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i. 


(i^^ 


^ 


THE 


A  U  T  0  B  I  0  G  R  A  P  I Y 


OF 


LEIGH   HUNT, 


WITH 


OF  FRIENDS  AND   CONTEMPOP^APvIES. 


"Most  men,  when  drawn  to  speak  about  themselves, 
Are  moved  by  little  and  little  to  say  more 
Than  they  first  dream'd  ;  until  at  last  they  blush, 
And  can  but  hope  to  find  secret  excuse 
In  the  self-knowledge  of  their  auditors." 

Walter  Scott's  Old  Play. 


IN     TWO     VOLUMES. 

VOL.    I. 


NE  W    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 
329    &   331    PEARL    STREET, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 

18G0. 


CO! 


PREFACE. 


\      Before  the  reader  looks  any  further  into  these  vohimes,  1 
■^1  would  entreat  him  to  bear  in  mind  tico  things. 
Q       And  I  say  "entreat,"  and  put  those  two  words  in  italics, 

J  not  in  order  to  give  emphasis  to  J;he  truth  (for  truth  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  its  own  emphasis)  but  to  show  him  how  anxious 
I  am  on  the  points,  and  to  impress  them  the  more  strongly  on 
his  attention. 

The  first  is,  that  the  work,  whatever  amusement  lie  may 
2>  find  in  it  (and  I  hope,  for  the  publishers'  sake,  as  well  as  my 
r>  own,  that  it  is  not  destitute  of  amusement)  was  commenced 
^  under  cireumstances  which  committed  me  to  its  execution, 
~-  and  would  have  been  abandoned  at  almost  every  step,  had 
those  circumstances  allowed. 

The  second  is,  that  the  life  being  that  of  a  man  of  letters, 

« 

*^and  topics  of  a  different  sort  failing  me  toward  the  conclusion, 

^  I  found  myself  impelled  to  dilate  more  on  my  writings,  than 

it  would  otherwise  have  entered  my  head  to  contemplate. 

It  is  true,  that  autobiography,  and  autocriticism  also,  have 
'aoounded  of  late  years  in  literary  quarters.  The  French 
'appear  to  have  set  the  example.  Goldoni  and  Alfieri  fol- 
Llowed  it.  Goethe  and  Chateaubriand  followed  them.  Cole- 
I  ridge's  Literary  Life  is  professedly  autocritical.  With  auto- 
criticism. VVods worth  answered  his  reviewers.     And  editions 

2989:54 


iv  PREFACE. 

of  Collected  Works  have  derived  new  attractions  from  what- 
ever accounts  of  them  their  authors  have  been  induced  to 
supply. 

Example  itself,  however,  while  it  furnishes  excuse  in  pro- 
portion to  the  right  which  a  man  has  to  follow  it,  becomes 
reason  for  alarm  when  he  knows  not  the  extent  of  his 
warrant.  Others  will  have  to  determine  that  point,  what- 
ever he  may  be  disposed  to  think  of  it ;  and  perhaps  he  may 
be  disposed  not  to  think  of  it  at  all,  but  wholly  to  eschew  its 
necessity.  Such,  at  all  events,  was  the  case  with  myself  I 
would  have  entirely  waived  the  autobiography,  if  a  sense  of 
justice  to  others  would  have  permitted  me  to  do  so.  My 
friend  and  pubhsher,  Mr.  Smith,  will  satisfy  any  one  on  that 
head,  who  is  not  acquainted  with  my  veracity.  But  Mr. 
Smith's  favorable  opinion  of  me,  and  his  own  kindly  feeling, 
led  him  to  think  it  would  be  so  much  the  reverse  of  a  disad- 
vantage to  me  in  the  end  that  he  took  the  handsomest  means 
of  making  the  task  as  easy  to  me  as  he  could,  through  a  long 
period  of  engagements  over  due,  and  of  interruptions  from  ill 
health ;  and  though  I  can  never  forget  the  pain  of  mind 
which  some  of  the  passages  cost  me,  yet  I  would  now,  for 
both  our  sakes,  willingly  be  glad  that  the  work  has  been  done,, 
provided  the  public  think  it  worth  readmg,  and  are  content 
with  this  explanation.  The  opportunity,  indeed,  which  it 
has  given  me  of  recalling  some  precious  memories,  of  correct- 
ing some  crude  judgments,  and,  in  one  respect,  of  discharging  * 
a  duty  that  must  otherwise  have  been  delayed,  make  me  • 
persuade  myself  on  the  whole,  that  I  am  glad.  So  I  shall  * 
endeavor,  with  the  reader's  help,  to  remain  under  that  com- 
fortable impression.     I  will  liken  myself  to  an  actor,  who 


PREFACE.  V 

though  commencing  his  part  on  the  stage  with  a  gout  or  a 
headache,  or,  perhaps,  even  with  a  bit  of  heartache,  finds  his 
audience  so  wiUing  to  be  pleased,  that  he  forgets  his  infirmity 
as  he  goes,  and  ends  with  being  glad  that  he  has  appeared. 

One  thing,  perhaps,  may  be  said  in  greater  excuse  for  me, 
than  for  most  autobiographers ;  namely,  that  I  have  been  so 
accustomed  during  the  greater  part  of  my  life  to  talk  to  the 
reader  in  my  own  person,  or  at  least  to  compare  notes  with 
him  by  implication  on  all  sorts  of  personal  subjects,  that  I  fall 
more  naturally  into  this  kind  of  fire-side  strain  than  most 
writers,  and  therefore  do  not  present  the  pubhc  so  abrupt  an 
image  of  individuality. 

So  much  for  talking  of  myself  at  all.  The  autocriticism  I 
would  rank,  at  due  distance,  in  the  category  of  those  explana- 
tions of  their  thoughts  and  feelings,  their  designs,  or  idiosyn- 
crasies, with  which  poets  have  occasionally  accompanied  their 
verses,  from  the  times  of  Dante  and  Petrarch  downwards. 
At  least,  this  was  the  example,  or  instinctive  principle,  on 
which  I  acted,  owing  to  my  intimacy  with  the  old  Italian 
writers,  and  to  my  love  of  the  way  in  which  their  prose  falls 
a  talking  of  their  poetry  ;  for  I  have  not  entered  into  the 
nature  of  such  autocriticism  itself,  or  given  my  reasons  as  I 
might  have  done,  and  I  think  to  good  eflect,  for  the  desirable- 
ness of  poets  giving  an  account  of  their  art.  I  came  unex- 
pectly  on  the  subject,  while  at  a  loss  for  my  next  autobio- 
graphical topic  ;  and  I  was  so  perplexed  what  to  find,  that  I 
had  not  time  even  to  make  choice  of  my  instances.  I  would 
make  the  same  excuse  for  going  into  details  on  other  points, 
or  on  any  points,  especially  those  most  relating  to  myself :  for 
I  have  lived  long  enough  to  discover^  that  autobiography  may 


vi  PREFACE. 

not  only  be  a  very  distressing  but  a  veiy  puzzling  task,  and 
throw  the  writer  into  such  doubts  as  to  what  he  should  or 
should  not  say,  as  totally  to  confuse  him.  What  conscience 
bids  him  utter,  for  the  sake  of  the  world,  may  be  clear 
enough  ;  and  in  obeying  that,  he  must  fmd  his  consolation  for 
all  chances  of  injury  to  himself 

The  autobiography  includes  all  that  seemed  worth  retain- 
ing of  what  has  before  been  written  in  connection  with  it,  and 
this  has  received  the  benefit  of  a  maturer  judgment.  The 
political  articles  from  the  Examiner,  curious  from  the  conse- 
quences attending  them,  are  republished  for  the  first  time ; 
several  hitherto  unpublished  letters  of  Thomas  Moore  ap- 
pear in  the  work,  in  addition  to  those  which  the  public 
have  already  seen ;  and  the  whole  work  will  be  new  to  by 
far  the  greater  number  of  readers,  not  only  because  of  the  new 
reading  generations  that  have  come  up,  but  because  times  are 
altered,  and  writers  are  willingly  heard  now,  in  the  compara- 
tive calm  of  parties,  and  during  the  anxiety  of  all  honest  men 
to  know  what  it  is  best  to  think  and  to  do,  whom,  twenty  or 
thirty  years  ago,  every  means  would  have  been  taken  to 
suppress. 

Let  mc  close  this  preface  vdth  thanking  two  members  of  a 
profession,  which  hterature  has  always  reason  to  thank  and 
to  love  ;  the  one  my  old  and  distinguished  friend  Dr.  South 
wood  Smith,  the  friend  of  his  species,  whose  attentions  to  my 
health  enabled  me  to  proceed  with  the  work ;  and  the  other, 
my  new  and,  if  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken,  hereafter  to  be 
distinguished  friend.  Dr.  Francis  Sibson,  a  young  physician, 
who  is  not  unworthy  to  be  named  at  the  same  time,  and  who 


PREFACE.  vii 

did  me  the  like  cordial  service  when  I  could  no  longer  prevail 
on  myself  to  interrupt  a  public  benefactor. 

And  so  Heaven  bless  the  reader,  and  all  of  us :  and  enable 
us  to  compare  notes  some  day  in  some  Elysian  comer  of 
intuition,  where  we  shall  be  in  no  need  of  prefaces  and  ex- 
planations, and  only  wonder  how  any  of  us  could  have  missed 
the  secret  of  universal  knowledge  and  happiness. 

Reader  (smiling  and  staring  about  him). — Where  is  it  ? 

Author. — Ah,  we  must  get  into  the  confines  of  Elysium 
first,  in  order  to  know. 

Reader. — And  where  is  Elysium  ? 

Author. — Why,  a  good  old  Divine  of  the  Church  of  En- 
gland says,  the  approach  to  it  is  called  Temper. — "  Heaven," 
says  Dr.  Whichcote,  "  is  first  a  temper,  and  then  a  place." 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.   I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    author's    progenitors. 


Fetching  a  man's  mind  from  his  cradle. — Transmission  of  family  faces 
and  qualities. — Childhood  a  favorite  theme  in  after-life. — The  au- 
thor's ancestors  and  father. — Perils  of  the  latter  during  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution. — Compliment  paid  him  by  the  father  of  Sheridan. — 
His  answer  to  a  bishop,  and  general  character  and  career. — Be- 
comes tutor  to  the  nephew  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos. — Accidental  death 
of  that  nobleman,  and  affecting  end  of  his  duchess. — Misfortunes 
in  the  author's  family. — His  mother  and  her  connections. — Her 
behavior  during  her  voyage  to  England ;  admirable  conduct 
on  various  other  occasions ;  and  love  of  the  sunset  during  her 
decline 13 

CHAPTER  H. 

CHILDHOOD. 

The  Leigh  family. — Preposterous  charge  against  it. — Beautiful  charac- 
ter in  Fielding  applied  to  Mr.  Leigh  by  his  son. — Author's  birth- 
place, Southgate. — Dr.  Trinder,  clergyman  and  physician. — Ques- 
tion of  sporting. — Character  of  Izaak  Walton. — Cruelty  of  a  cock- 
fighter. — Calais  and  infant  heresy. — Porpoises  and  dolphins. — A  des- 
potic brother. — Supernatural  fears  in  childhood. — Anecdote  of  an 
oath. — ^Martial  toys. — Infant  church-militant. — Manners  and  customs 
of  the  time. — Music  and  poetry. — Memories  of  songs. — Authors  in 
vogue. — Pitt  and  Fox. — Lords  and  Commons 35 

CHAPTER  HL 

SCHOOL-DAYS. 

Children's  books. — Hogarth. — Christ-Hospital. — Moral  and  personal 
courage. — Anecdote  of  a  racket-ball. — Fagging. — Visits  of  Queen 
Victoria  to  the  school. — Details  respecting  that  foundation,  its  man- 
ners and  customs,  modes  of  training,  distinguished  scholars,  preach- 
ers, and  schoolmasters,  &c. — Tooke's  Pantheon  and  the  British 
Poets. — Scalded  legs  and  the  luxuries  of  a  sick  ward 64 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

scuooL-DAYS  (continued). 

Healthy  literary  training  of  Christ-Hospital. — Early  friendship. — 
Early  love. — St.  James's  Park,  music  and  war. — President  West 
and  his  house. — The  Thornton  family  and  theirs.  The  Dayrells 
and  first  love. — Early  thoughts  of  Religion. — Jews  and  their  syna- 
gogues.— Coleridge  and  Lamb. — A  mysterious  sehoolfellow. — The 
greater  mystery  of  the  Fazzer. — Mitchell  and  Barnes. — Boatings, 
bathings,  and  Lady  Craven. — Departure  from  school 97 

CHAPTER  V. 


Juvenile  verses. —  Visits  to  Cambridge  and  Oxford. — Danger  of  drown- 
ing.— Bobart,  the  Oxford  coachman. — Spirit  of  University  training. 
— Dr.  Raine,  of  tlic  Charter-House. — A  juvenile  beard. — America 
and  Dr.  Franklin. — Maurice,  author  of  Indian  Antiquities. — Welsh 
bards. — A  religious  hoy. — Doctrine  of  self-preservation. — A  walk 
from  Ramsgate  to  Brighton. — Character  of  a  liver  at  inns. — A  de- 
vout landlord. — Inhospitality  to  the  benighted. — Answers  of  rustics 
to  wayfarers. — Pedestrian  exploits. — Dangers  of  delay. — The  club 
of  elders 123 

CHAPTER  VI. 

PLAYGOING  AND  VOLUNTEERS. 

Threatened  invasion  by  the  French. — The  St.  James's  Volunteers.- 
Singular  debut  of  their  colonel. — Satire  of  Foote. — A  taste  of  cam- 
paigning.— Recollections  of  the  stage  at  the  beginning  of  the  present 
century. — Farley,  De  Camp,  Miss  De  Camp,  Emery,  Kelly  and 
Mrs.  Crouch,  Catalini,  I\Irs.  Billington,  Madame  Grassini,  Braham, 
Pasta  and  Lablachc,  female  singers  in  general ;  Arabrogetti,  Vestris 
the  dancer,  Parisot ;  singing  and  dancing  in  former  times  and  pres- 
ent ;  Jack  Banister,  Fawcett,  Munden,  Elliston,  Mathews,  Dowton, 
Cooke,  the  Kembles  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  Mrs.  Jordan. — Playgo- 
ing  in  youth. —  Critical  play  going. — Play  going  in  general  not  what 
it  was. — Social  position  of  actors  in  those  times. — John  Kerable  and 
a  noble  lord  at  a  book-sale. — Earl  Spencer 144 

CHAPTER  VH. 

ESSAYS   ON   CRITICISM. 

Acquaintance  with  the  British  classics,  and  contribution  of  a  series  of 
articles  to  an  evening  paper. — Colman  and  Bonnell  Thornton.— 


CONTENTS.  xl 

Goldsmith  again. — Reading  of  novels. — Objections  to  history. — 
Voltaire. — Youthful  theology. — The  Ncva's. — Critical  essays  on  the 
performers  of  the  London  theatres. — John  Kerable  and  his  whims 
of  pronunciation 165 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

STJFFEKING    AND   REFLECTION. 

Nervous  illness  and  conclusions  therefrom. — Mystery  of  the  universe. 
— Hypochondriacal  recreations. — A  hundred  and  fifty  rhymes  on  a 
trissyllable. — Pastoral  innocence. — A  didactic  yeoman. — "Hideous 
sight"  of  Dr.  Young. — Action  the  cure  for  sedentary  ailments. — 
Boating  ;  a  fray  on  the  Thames. — Magical  effect  of  the  word  "  Law." 
— Return  of  health  and  enjoyment 189 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    EXAMINER. 

Establishment  of  the  Examiner. — Albany  Fonblanque. — Author's  mis- 
takes in  setting  out  in  his  editorial  career. — Objects  of  the  Examiner, 
and  misrepresentations  of  them  by  the  Tories. — Jeu  d'esprit  of  "  Na- 
poleon in  his  Cabinet." — "Breakfast  Sympathies  with  the  Miseries 
of  War." — War  dispassionately  considered. — Anti-republicanism  of 
the  Examiner,  and  its  views  in  theology. — The  Author  for  some  time 
a  clerk  in  the  War  OlTice. — His  patron,  JNIr.  Addington,  afterward 
Lord  Sidmouth. — Poetry  and  accoimts   201 

CHAPTER  X. 

LITERARY    ACQUAINTANCES. 

Du  Bois. — Campbell. — Theodore  Hook. — Mathews. — James  and  Hor- 
ace Smith. — Fuseli. — Bonnycastle. — Kinnaird,  &c 211 

CHAPTER  XI. 

POLITICAL    CHARACTERS. 

Ministry  of  the  Pittites. — Time-serving  conduct  of  the  Allies. — Height 
and  downfall  of  Napoleon. — Character  of  George  the  Third. — Mis- 
takes and  sincerity  of  the  Examiner. — Indictment  against  it  respect- 
ing the  case  of  Major  Hogan. — Afliiir  of  Mrs.  Clarke. — Indictment 
respecting  the  reign  of  George  the  Third. — Perry,  proprietor  of  the 
Morning  Chronicle. — Characters  of  Canning,  Lord  Liverpool,  and 
Lord  Castlercagh. — Whigs  and  Whig-Radicals. — Queen  Victoria. — 
Royalty  and  Republics. — Indictment  respecting  military  flogging. — 
The  Attornoy.goneral,  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs 228 


xii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XII.  > 

LITERARY    WARFARE. 

The  Reflector  and  the  writers  in  it. — Feast  of  the  Poets. — Its  attacb 
on  Gifford  for  his  attack  on  Mrs.  Robinson. — Character  of  Giflbrd 
and  his  writings. — Specimens  of  the  Baviad  and  Ma^viad. — His  ap- 
pearance at  the  Roxburgh  sale  of  books. — Attack  on  Walter  Scott, 
occasioned  by  a  passage  in  his  edition  of  Dryden. — Tory  calumny. 
— Quarrels  and  recriminations  of  authors. — The  wTiter's  present 
opinion  of  Sir  Walter. — General  offense  caused  by  the  Feast  of  the 
Poets. — Its  inconsiderate  treatment  of  Haylcy. — Dinner  of  the  Prince 
Regent. — Holland  House  and  Lord  Holland. — Neutralization  of 
Whig  advocacy. — Recollections  of  Blanco  White 252 

CHAPTER  Xm. 

THE  REGENT  AND  THE  EXAMINER. 

"  The  Prince  on  St.  Patrick's  Day." — Indictment  for  an  attack  on  the 
Regent  in  that  article. — Present  feelings  of  the  writer  on  the  sub- 
ject.— Real  sting  of  the  offense  in  the  article. — Sentence  of  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  Examiner  to  an  imprisonment  for  two  years. — Their 
rejection  of  two  proposals  of  compromise. — Lord  Ellenborough,  Mr. 
Garrow,  and  Mr.  Justice  Grose 272 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

IMPRISONMENT. 

Author's  imprisonment. — Curious  specimen  of  a  jailer,  an  under-jailer, 
and  an  under-jailcr's  wife. — Mr.  Holme  Sumner. — Conversion  of  a 
room  in  a  prison  into  a  fairy  bower. — Author's  visitors. — A  heart- 
rending spectacle. — Felons  and  debtors. — Restoration  to  freedom. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE     author's     progenitors. 

Fetching  a  man's  mind  from  his  cradle. — Transmission  of  family  faces 
and  qualities. — Childhood  a  favorite  theme  in  after-life. — The  au- 
thor's ancestors  and  father. — Perils  of  the  latter  during  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution. — Compliment  paid  him  by  the  father  of  Sheridan. — 
His  answer  to  a  bishop,  and  general  character  and  career. — Be- 
comes tutor  to  the  nephew  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos. — Accidental  death 
of  that  nobleman,  and  affecting  end  of  his  duchess. — Misfortunes 
in  the  author's  family. — His  mother  and  her  connections. — Her 
behavior  during  her  voyage  to  England ;  admirable  conduct 
on  various  other  occasions ;  and  love  of  the  sunset  during  her 
decline. 

The  circumstances  that  led  to  this  Autobiography  will 
transpire  in  the  course  of  it.  Suffice  it  to  say  for  the  present, 
that  a  more  involuntary  production  it  would  be  difficult  to 
conceive  ;  though  I  trust  it  will  not  be  found  destitute  of  the 
entertainment  which  any  true  account  of  experiences  in  the 
life  of  a  human  being  must  of  necessity,  perhaps,  contain. 

I  claim  no  importance  for  any  thing  which  I  have  done  or 
undergone,  but  on  grounds  common  to  the  interests  of  all,  and 
to  the  willing  sympathy  of  my  brother-lovers  of  books. 
Should  I  be  led  at  any  time  into  egotisms  of  a  nature  that 
seem  to  think  otherwise,  I  blush  beforehand  for  the  mischance, 
and  beg  it  to  considered  as  alien  from  my  habits  of  reflection. 
I  have  had  vanities  enough  in  my  day  ;  and,  as  the  reader 
will  sec,  became  aware  of  them.      If  I  have  any  remaining, 


14  LIFE  or  LEIGH  HUNT. 

1  hope  tliey  are  only  such  as  nature  kindly  allows  to  most 
of  us,  in  order  to  comfort  us  in  our  regrets  and  infirmities. 
And  the  more  we  could  look  even  into  these,  the  less  we 
should  find  in  them  for  self-complacency,  apart  from  consider- 
ations that  respect  the  whole  human  race. 

There  is  a  phrase,  for  instance,  of  "  fetching  a  man's  mind 
from  his  cradle."  But  docs  the  mind  begin  at  that  point  of 
time  ?  Does  it  begin  even  with  his  parents  ?  I  was  looking 
once,  in  company  with  Mr.  Ilazlitt,  at  an  exhibition  of  pic- 
tures in  the  British  Institution,  when  casting  my  eyes  on  the 
portrait  of  axi  officer  in  the  dress  of  the  time  of  Charles  the 
Second,  T  exclaimed,  "  What  a  likeness  to  B.  IM.  I"  (a  friend 
of  ours).  It  turned  out  to  be  his  ancestor.  Lord  Sandwich. 
Mr.  Hazlitt  took  me  across  the  room,  and  showed  me  the 
portrait  of  a  celebrated  judge,  who  lived  at  the  same  period. 
"This,"  said  he,  "is  Judge  So-and-so  ;  and  his  living  represent- 
ative (he  is  now  dead)  has  the  same  face  and  the  same  pas- 
sions." The  Ilazlitt  then  of  the  same  age  might  have  been  the 
same  Hazlitt  that  was  standing  with  me  before  the  picture  ; 
and  such  may  have  been  the  case  with  the  writer  of  these 
pages.  There  is  a  famous  historical  bit  of  transmission  called 
the  "  Austrian  lip  ;"  and  faces,  which  we  consider  peculiar  to 
individuals,  are  said  to  be  common  in  whole  districts  :  such  as 
the  Boccacio'  face  in  one  part  of  Tuscany,  and  the  Dante  face 
in  another.  I  myself  have  seen,  in  the  Genoese  territory, 
many  a  face  like  that  of  the  Bonapartes  ;  and  where  a  race  has 
strong  blood  in  it,  or  whatever  may  constitute  the  requisite 
vital  tendency,  it  is  probable  that  the  family  likeness  might  be 
found  to  prevail  in  the  humblest  as  well  as  highest  quarters. 
There  are  families,  indeed,  of  yeomen,  who  are  said  to  have 
flourished  like  old  oaks,  in  one  and  the  same  spot,  since  the 
times  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  I  am  descended,  both  by  father's 
and  mother's  side,  from  adventurous  people,  who  left  England 
for  the  New  World,  and  whose  descendants  have  retained  the 
spirit  of  adventure  to  this  day.  The  chances  are,  that  in 
some  respects  I  am  identical  with  some  half-dozen,  or  perhaps 
twenty  of  these  ;  and  that  the  mind  of  some  cavalier  of  the 
days  of  the  Stuarts,  or  some  gentleman  or  yeoman,  or  "  roving 
blade,"  of  those  of  the  Edwards  and  Henrys,  perhaps  the  gal- 


HIS  PROGENITORS.  15 

lant  merchant-man,  "  Henry  Hunt"  of  the  old  ballad — mixed, 
alas  I  with  a  sedentary  difference,  is  now  writing  these  lines, 
ignorant  of  his  former  earthly  self  and  of  his  present  I  I  say 
earthly,  for  I  speak  it  with  no  disparagement  to  the  existence 
of  an  individual  '=  soul" — a  point  in  which  I  am  a  firm  be- 
liever ;  nor  would  it  be  difficult  to  reconcile  one  opinion  with 
the  other  in  ears  accustomed  to  such  arguments ;  but  I  must 
not  enter  upon  them  here. 

The  name  of  Hunt  is  found  among  the  gentry,  but  I  sus- 
pect it  is  oftcner  a  plebeian  name  ;  and  though  my  immediate 
progenitors  were  clergymen,  and  Bryan  Edwards's  History  of 
the  West  Indies  contains  a  map  of  Barbados  (their  native 
place)  with  one  of  the  residences  designated  by  it — apparently 
a  minor  estate — ^yet  it  does  not  appear  either  in  the  old  map 
in  the  History  of  Barbados  by  Ligon,  or  in  the  lists  of  influ- 
ential or  other  persons  in  that  by  Sir  Robert  Schomburgck. 
There  is  a  "  Pv-ichard  Hunt,  Esq.,"  in  the  list  of  subscribers 
to  Hughes's  Natural  History  of  Barbados,  which  contains  also 
the  name  of  Dr.  Hunt,  who  was  Hebrew  and  Arabic  profes- 
sor at  Oxford,  and  whose  genealogy  the  biographer  can  not 
discover.  Perhaps  the  good  old  oriental  scholar  belongs  to 
our  stock,  and  originated  my  love  of  the  Arabian  Nights  I 
The  tradition  in  the  family  is  that  we  descend  from  Tory 
cavaliers  (a  wide  designation),  who  fled  to  the  West  Indies 
from  the  ascendency  of  Cromwell ;  and  on  the  female  side, 
amidst  a  curious  mixture  of  quakers  and  soldiers,  we  derive 
ourselves  not  only  from  gentry,  but  from  kings — that  is  to 
say,  Irisli  kings  ! — personages  (not  to  say  it  disrespectfully  to 
the  wit  and  misfortunes  of  the  sister-island)  who  rank  pretty 
much  on  a  par  with  the  negro  chief,  surrounded  by  half  a 
dozen  lords  in  ragged  shirts,  who  asked  the  traveler  what  his 
brother  kings  thought  of  him  in  Europe.  I  take  our  main 
Btock  to  have  been  mercantile. 

I  have  begun  my  book  with  my  progenitors  and  with 
childhood,  partly  because  "  order  gives  all  things  view," 
partly  because,  whatever  we  may  assume  as  we  grow  up 
respecting  the  "dignity  of  manhood,"  we  all  feel  that  child- 
hood was  a  period  of  great  importance  to  us.  Most  men 
recur  to  it  with  delight.      They  are  in  general  very  willing  to 


16  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

dilate  upon  it,  especially  if  they  meet  with  au  old  school- 
fellow ;  and  therefore,  on  a  principle  of  reciprocity,  and  as  I 
have  long  considered  myself  a  kind  of  playmate  and  fellow- 
disciple  with  persons  of  all  times  of  life  (for  none  of  us, 
unless  we  are  very  silly  or  naughty  boys  indeed,  ever  leave 
otF  learning  in  some  school  or  other),  I  shall  suppose  I  have 
been  listening  to  some  other  young  gentleman  of  sixty  or 
seventy  years  of  age  over  his  wine,  and  that  I  am  now  going 
to  relate  about  half  as  much  respecting  my  existence,  as  ho 
has  told  us  of  his  own. 

My  grandfather,  himself  the  son,  I  believe  of  a  clergy- 
man, was  Rector  of  St.  Michael's  in  Bridge-town,  Barbados. 
He  was  a  good-natured  man,  and  recommended  the  famous 
Lauder  to  the  mastership  of  the  free-school  there  ;  influ- 
enced, no  doubt,  partly  by  his  pretended  repentance,  and 
partly  by  sympathy  with  his  Toryism.  Lauder  is  said  to 
have  been  discharged  for  misconduct.  I  never  heard  that ; 
but  I  have  heard  that  his  appearance  was  decent,  and  that 
he  had  a  wood  enleg  :  which  is  an  anti-climax  belitting 
his  history.  My  grandfather  was  admired  and  beloved  by  all 
his  parishioners  for  the  manner  in  which  he  discharged  his 
duties.  He  died  at  an  early  age,  in  consequence  of  a  fever 
taken  in  the  hot  and  damp  air,  while  officiating  incessantly 
at  burials  during  a  mortality.  His  wife,  who  was  an  O'Brien, 
or  rather  Bryan,  very  proud  of  her  descent  from  the  kings 
aforesaid  (or  of  the  kings  from  her),  was  as  good-natured  and 
beloved  as  her  husband,  aiid  very  asssiduous  in  her  atten- 
tions to  the  negroes  and  to  the  poor,  for  whom  she  kept 
a  set  of  medicines,  like  my  Lady  Bountiful.  They  had 
two  children  besides  ray  father  ;  Anna  Courthope,  who  died 
unmarried  ;  and  Elizabeth,  wife  of  Thomas  Dayrell,  Esq., 
of  Barbados,  father  by  a  first  marriage  of  the  late  barrister 
of  that  name.  I  mention  both  of  these  ladies,  because  they 
will  come  among  my  portraits. 

To  these  their  children,  the  worthy  rector  and  his  wife 
were  a  little  too  indulgent.  When  my  father  was  to  go  to 
the  American  Continent  to  school,  the  latter  dressed  up  her 
boy  in  a  fine  suit  of  laced  clothes,  such  as  we  see  on  the  lit- 
tle gentlemen  in  Hogarth  ;  but  so  splendid  and  costly,  that 


AUTHOR'S  FATHER.  17 

when  the  good  pastor  beheld  him,  he  was  moved  to  utter  au 
expostulation.  Objection,  however,  soon  gave  way  before  the 
pride  of  all  parties ;  and  my  father  set  off  for  school,  ready 
spoilt,  with  plenty  of  money  to  spoil  him  more. 

He  went  to  college  at  Philadelphia,  and  became  the 
scapegrace  who  smuggled  in  the  wine,  and  bore  the  brunt  of 
the  tutors.  My  father  took  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts, 
both  at  Philadelphia  and  New  York.  When  he  spoke  the 
farewell  oration  on  leaving  college,  two  young  ladies  fell  in 
love  with  him,  one  of  whom  he  afterward  married.  He 
was  fair  and  handsome,  with  delicate  features,  a  small  aqui- 
line nose,  and  blue  eyes.  To  a  graceful  address  he  joined 
a  remarkably  fine  voice,  which  he  modulated  with  great 
effect.  It  was  in  reading,  with  this  voice,  the  poets  and 
other  classics  of  England,  that  he  completed  the  conquest 
of  my  mother's  heart.  He  used  to  spend  his  evenings  in  this 
manner  with  her  and  her  familj^ — -a  noble  way  of  courtship ; 
and  my  grandmother  became  so  hearty  in  his  cause,  that  she 
succeeded  in  carrying  it  against  her  husband,  who  wished 
his  daughter  to  marry  a  wealthy  neighbor. 

My  father  was  intended,  I  believe,  to  carry  on  the  race 
of  clergymen,  as  he  afterward  did ;  but  he  went,  in,  the 
first  instance,  into  the  law.  The  Americans  united  the 
practice  of  attorney  and  barrister.  My  father  studied  the 
law  under  articles  to  one  of  the  chief  persons  in  the  profes- 
sion ;  and  afterward  practiced  with  distinction  himself.  At 
this  period  (by  which  time  all  my  brothers,  now  living,  were 
born)  the  Revolution  broke  out ;  and  he  entered  with  so 
much  zeal  into  the  cause  of  the  British  Government,  that, 
besides  pleading  for  the  loyalists  with  great  fervor  at  the 
bar,  he  wrote  pamphlets  equally  full  of  party  warmth, 
which  drew  on  him  the  popular  odium.  His  fortunes  then 
came  to  a  crisis  in  America.  Early  one  morning,  a  great 
concourse  of  people  appeared  before  his  house.  He  came 
out — or  was  brought.  They  put  him  into  a  cart  prepared 
for  the  purpose  (conceive  the  anxiety  of  his  wife!),  and, 
after  parading  him  about  the  streets,  were  joined  by  a  party 
of  the  revolutionary  soldiers  with  drum  and  fife.  The  mul- 
titude then  went  with  him  to  the  house  of  Dr.  Kearsley,  a 


18  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

standi  Tory  who  shut  up  the  windows,  and  endeavored 
to  prevent  their  getting  in.  The  doctor  had  his  hand 
pierced  by  a  bayonet,  as  it  entered  between  the  shutters 
behind  which  he  had  planted  himself.  He  was  dragged  out 
and  put  into  the  cart,  all  over  blood  ;  but  he  lost  none  of 
his  intrepidity ;  for  he  answered  their  reproaches  and  out- 
rage with  vehement  reprehensions  ;  and,  by  way  of  retalia- 
tion on  the  "Rogue's  March,"  struck  up  "God  save  the 
King."  My  father  gave  way  as  little  as  the  doctor.  He 
would  say  nothing  that  was  dictated  to  him,  nor  renounce  a 
single  opinion ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  maintained  a 
tranquil  air,  and  endeavored  to  persuade  his  companion  not 
to  add  to  their  irritation.  This  was  to  no  purpose.  Dr. 
Kearsley  continued  infuriate,  and  more  than  once  fainted 
from  loss  of  blood  and  the  violence  of  his  feelings.  The 
two  loyalists  narrowly  escaped  tarring  and  feathering.  A 
tub  of  tar,  which  had  been  set  in  a  conspicuous  place  in  one 
of  the  streets  for  that  purpose,  was  overturned  by  an  officer 
intimate  with  our  family.  My  father,  however,  did  not 
escape  entirely  from  personal  injury.  One  of  the  stones 
throNvn  by  the  mob  gave  him  such  a  severe  blow  on  the 
head,  as  not  only  laid  him  swooning  in  the  cart,  but 
dimmed  his  sight  for  life,  so  as  to  oblige  him  from  that  time 
to  wear  spectacles.  At  length,  after  being  carried  through 
every  street  in  Philadelphia,  the  two  captives  were  deposited, 
in  the  evening,  in  a  prison  in  Market-street.  What  became 
of  Dr.  Kearsley,  I  can  not  say.  My  father,  by  means  of  a 
large  sum  of  money  given  to  the  sentinel  who  had  charge  of 
him,  was  enabled  to  escape  at  midnight.  He  went  imme- 
diately on  board  a  ship  in  the  Delaware,  that  belonged  to 
my  grandfather,  and  was  bound  for  the  West  Indies.  She 
dropped  down  the  river  that  same  night ;  and  ray  father 
went  first  to  Barbados,  and  afterward  to  England  where  he 
settled. 

My  mother  was  to  follow  my  father  as  soon  as  possible, 
which  she  was  not  able  to  do  for  many  months.  The  last 
time  she  had  seen  him,  he  was  a  lawyer  and  a  partisan, 
going  out  to  meet  an  irritated  populace.  On  her  arrival  in 
England,  she  beheld  him  in  a  pulpit,  a  clergyman,  preach- 


POPULARITY  AS  A  CLERGYMAN.  19 

ing  tranquillity.  When  my  father  came  over,  he  found  it 
impossible  to  continue  his  profession  as  a  lawyer.  Some 
actors,  who  heard  him  read,  advised  him  to  go  on  the  stage ; 
but  he  was  too  proud  for  that,  and  went  into  the  church. 
He  was  ordained  by  the  celebrated  Lowth,  then  bishop  of 
London ;  and  he  soon  became  so  popular  that  the  bishop 
sent  for  him,  and  remonstrated  against  his  preaching  so 
many  charity  sermons.  He  said  it  was  ostentatious  in  a 
clergyman,  and  that  he  saw  his  name  in  too  many  adver- 
tisements. My  father  thought  it  strange,  but  acquiesced. 
It  is  true,  he  preached  a  great  many  of  these  sermons.  I 
am  told,  that  for  a  whole  year  he  did  nothing  else  :  and 
perhaps  there  was  something  in  his  manner  a  little  startling 
to  the  simplicity  of  the  Church  of  England.  I  remember, 
when  he  came  to  that  part  of  the  Litany  where  the  reader 
prays  for  his  deliverance  "in  the  hour  of  death  and  at  the 
day  of  judgment,"  he  used  to  make  a  pause  at  the  word 
"  death,"  and  drop  his  voice  on  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 
The  effect  was  striking  ;  but  repetition  must  have  hurt  it. 
I  am  afraid  it  was  a  little  theatrical.  His  delivery,  how- 
ever, was  so  much  admired  by  those  who  thought  themselves 
the  best  judges,  that  Thomas  Sheridan,  father  of  the  late 
Sheridan,  came  up  to  him  one  day  after  service,  in  the 
vestry,  and  complimented  him  on  having  profited  so  well 
from  his  Treatise  on  Reading  the  Liturgy.  My  father 
was  obliged  to  tell  him  that  he  had  never  seen  it. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  Lowth,  but  it  was  some 
bishop,  to  whom  my  father  one  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  warm 
discussion,  being  asked  "  if  he  knew  who  he  was?"  replied, 
with  a  bow,  "  Yes,  my  lord  ;  dust  and  ashes."  Doubtless 
the  clergyman  was  warm  and  imprudent.  In  truth,  he 
made  a  great  mistake  when  he  entered  the  profession.  By 
the  nature  of  the  tenure,  it  was  irretrievable  ;  and  his  whole 
life  after  was  a  series  of  errors,  arising  from  the  unsuitabili- 
ty  of  his  position.  He  was  fond  of  divinity  ;  but  it  was  as 
a  speculator,  and  not  as  a  dogmatist,  or  one  who  takes 
upon  trust.  He  was  ardent  in  the  cause  of  Church  and 
State  ;  but  here  he  speculated  too,  and  soon  began  to  modify 
his  opinions,  which  got  liim  the  ill-will  of  the  Government. 


20  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

He  delighted  his  audiences  in  the  pulpit ;  so  much  so,  that 
he  had  crowds  of  carriages  at  the  door.  One  of  his  congre- 
gations had  an  engraving  made  of  him  ;  and  a  lady  of  the 
name  of  Cooling,  who  was  member  of  another,  left  him  by 
will  the  sum  of  £500,  as  a  testimony  of  the  pleasure  and 
advantage  she  had  derived  from  his  discourses. 

But  luifortunatcly,  after  delighting  his  hearers  in  the 
pulpit,  he  would  delight  some  of  them  a  little  too  much 
over  the  table.  He  was  extremely  lively  and  agreeable ; 
was  full  of  generous  sentiments  ;  could  flatter  without  gross- 
ness  :  had  stories  to  tell  of  lords  whom  he  knew  ;  and  when 
the  bottle  was  to  circulate,  it  did  not  stand  with  him.  All 
this  was  dangerous  to  a  West  Indian  who  had  an  increasing 
family,  and  was  to  make  his  way  in  the  church.  It  was 
too  much  for  him  ;  and  he  added  another  to  the  list  of  those* 
who,  though  they  might  suffice  equally  for  themselves  and 
others  in  a  more  considerate  and  contented  state  of  society, 
and  seem  born  to  be  the  delights  of  it,  are  only  lost  and 
thrown  out  in  a  system  of  things,  which,  by  going  upon 
the  grovmd  of  individual  aggrandizement,  compels  disposi- 
tions of  a  more  sociable  and  reasonable  nature  either  to  be- 
come parties  concerned,  or  be  ruined  in  the  refusal.  It  is 
doubtless  incumbent  on  a  husband  and  father  to  be  careful 
under  all  circumstances  :  and  it  is  very  easy  for  most  people 
to  talk  of  the  necessity  of  being  so,  and  to  recommend  it  to 
others,  especially  when  they  have  been  educated  to  that 
habit.  Let  those  fling  the  first  stone,  who,  with  real  incli- 
nation and  talent  for  other  things  (for  the  inclination  may 
not  be  what  they  take  it  for),  confine  themselves  industrious- 
ly to  the  duties  prescribed  them.  There  are  more  victims 
to  errors  committed  by  society  themselves,  than  society  sup- 
pose. 

But  I  grant  that  a  man  is  either  bound  to  tell  them  so, 
or  to  do  as  they  do.  My  father  was  always,  theoretically 
speaking,  both  for  the  good  of  the  world,  and  for  that  of  his 
family  (I  remember  a  printed  proposal  which  he  drew  up  for 
an  academy,  to  be  entitled  the  "  Cosmopolitical  Seminary") , 
but  he  had  neither  uiioasiiiess  enough  in  his  blood,  nor,  per- 
haps, sufficient  strength  in  his  convictions,  to  bring  his  spec- 


THE  LAST  DUKE  OF  CHANDOS.  21 

ulations  to  bear ;  and  as  to  the  pride  of  cutting  a  figure 
above  his  neighbors,  which  so  many  men  mistake  for  a  better 
principal  of  action,  he  could  dispense  with  that.  As  it  was, 
he  should  have  been  kept  at  home  in  Barbados.  He  was  a 
true  exotic,  and  ought  not  to  have  been  translated.  He 
might  have  preached  there,  and  quoted  Horace,  and  been 
gentlemanly  and  generous,  and  drunk  his  claret,  and  no 
harm  done.  But  in  a  bustling,  commercial  state  of  society, 
where  the  enjoyment,  such  as  it  is,  consists  in  the  bustle,  he 
was  neither  very  Fikely  to  succeed,  nor  to  meet  with  a  good 
construction,  nor  to  end  his  pleasant  ways  with  pleasing  either 
the  world  or  himself 

It  was  in  the  pulpit  of  Bentinck  Chapel,  Lisson  Green, 
Paddingtoji,  that  my  mother  found  her  husband  officiating. 
He  published  a  volume  of  sermons  preached  there,  in  which 
there  is  little  but  elegance  of  diction  and  a  graceful  morality. 
His  delivery  was  the  charm ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  he 
charmod  every  body  but  the  owner  of  the  chapel,  who  look- 
ed upon  rent  as  by  far  the  most  eloquent  production  of  the 
pulpit.  The  speculation  ended  with  the  preacher  being 
horribly  in  debt.  Friends,  however,  were  lavish  of  their 
assistance.  Three  of  my  brothers  were  sent  to  school ; 
the  other,  at  her  earnest  entreaty,  went  to  live  (which  he 
did  for  some  years)  with  Mrs.  Spencer,  a  sister  (I  think)  of 
Sir  Richard  Worsley,  and  a  delicious  little  old  woman,  the 
delight  of  all  the  children  of  her  acquaintance.  My  father 
and  mother  took  breath,  in  the  mean  time,  under  the  friend- 
ly roof  of  Mr.  West  the  painter,  who  had  married  her  aunt. 
The  aunt  and  niece  were  much  of  an  age,  and  both  fond  of 
books.  Mrs.  West,  indeed,  ultimately  became  a  martyr  to 
them  ;  for  the  physician  declared  that  she  lost  the  use  of  her 
limbs  by  sitting  in-doors. 

From  Newman-street  my  father  went  to  live  in  Hamp- 
stead-square,  At'hence  he  occasionally  used  to  go  and  preach 
at  Southgate.  The  then  Duke  of  Chandos  had  a  scat  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Southgate.  He  heard  my  father  preach, 
and  was  so  pleased  with  him  that  he  requested  him  to  be- 
come tutor  to  his  nephew,  Mr.  Leigh,  which  my  father  did, 
and   remained  with   his  Grace's   family  for  several  years. 


9-3  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

The  duke  was  Master  of  the  Horse,  and  originated  the  fa- 
mous epithet  of"  heaven  born  minister,"  appUed  to  Mr.  Pitt, 
which  occasioned  a  good  deal  of  raillery.  I  have  heard  my 
father  describe  him  as  a  man  of  great  sweetness  of  nature 
and  good-breeding.  He  was  the  grandson  of  Pope  and 
Swift's  Duke  of  Chandos.  He  died  in  1789,  and  left  a 
widow,  who  survived  him  for  several  years  in  a  state  of 
mental  alienation.  I  mention  this  circumstance,  because  I 
think  I  have  heard  it  said  in  our  family,  that  her  derange- 
ment was  owing  to  a  piece  of  thoughtlessness,  the  notice  of 
which  may  serve  as  a  caution.  She  was  a  woman  of  great 
animal  spirits ;  and  happening  to  thrust  aside  the  duke's 
chair,  when  he  was  going  to  sit  down,  the  consequences 
were  such  that,  being  extremely  attached  to  him,  she  could 
never  forgive  herself,  but  lost  her  husband  and  senses  at 
once.  The  duchess  had  already  been  married  to  a  gentleman 
of  the  name  of  EUetson.  She  was  daughter  of  Sir  Ptichard 
Gamon,  and  mother  of  an  heiress,  who  carried  the  title  of 
Chandos  into  the  Grenville  family. 

To  be  tutor  in  a  ducal  family  is  one  of  the  roads  to  a 
bishopric.  My  father  was  thought  to  be  in  the  highest  way 
to  it.  He  was  tutor  in  the  house,  not  only  of  a  duke,  but 
of  a  state-officer,  for  whom  the  king  had  a  personal  regard. 
His  manners  were  of  the  highest  order  ;  his  principles  in 
Church  and  State  as  orthodox,  to  all  appearance,  as  could 
be  wished  ;  and  he  had  given  up  flourishing  prospects  in 
America,  for  their  sake  ;  but  his  West  Indian  temperament 
spoiled  all.  He  also,  as  he  became  acquainted  with  the 
Government,  began  to  doubt  its  perfections  ;  and  the  king, 
whose  minuteness  of  information  respecting  the  personal  af- 
fairs of  his  subjects  is  well  known,  was  most  likely  prepared 
with  questions,  which  the  duke  was  not  equally  prepared  to 
answer. 

My  father,  meanwhile,  was  getting  more  and  more  dis- 
tressed. He  removed  to  Hampstead  a  second  time  :  from 
Hampstcad  he  crossed  the  water ;  and  the  first  room  I  have 
any  recollection  of  is  a  prison. 

Mr.  West  (which  was  doubly  kind  in  a  man  by  nature 
cautious   and  timid)  again  and    again  took  the  liberty  of 


LOYALIST  PENSION.  23 

representing  my  father's  circumstances  to  the  king.  It  is 
well  known  that  this  artist  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  his 
majesty  in  no  ordinary  degree.  The  king  would  converse 
half  a  day  at  a  time  with  him,  while  he  was  painting.  His 
majesty  said  he  would  speak  to  the  bishops  ;  and  again,  on  a 
second  application,  he  said  my  father  should  be  provided  for. 
My  father  himself  also  presented  a  petition  ;  but  all  that 
was  ever  done  for  him,  was  the  putting  his  name  on  the 
Loyalist  Pension  List  for  a  hundred  a  year  ;  a  sum  which  he 
not  only  thought  extremely  inadequate  for  the  loss  of  seven 
or  eight  times  as  much  in  America,  a  cheaper  country,  but 
which  he  felt  to  be  a  poor  acknowledgment  even  for  the  act- 
ive zeal  he  had  evinced,  and  the  things  he  had  said  and 
written ;  especially  as  it  came  late,  and  he  was  already  in- 
volved. Small  as  it  was,  he  was  obliged  to  mortgage  it ; 
and  from  this  time  till  the  arrival  of  some  relations  from  the 
West  Indies,  several  years  afterward,  he  underwent  a  series 
of  mortifications  and  distresses,  not  without  reason  for  self- 
reproach.  Unfortunately  for  others,  it  might  be  said  of  him, 
what  Lady  Mary  Wortley  said  of  her  kinsman,  Henry 
Fielding,  "  that  give  him  his  leg  of  mutton  and  bottle  of 
wine,  and  in  the  very  thick  of  calamity  he  would  be  happy 
for  the  time  being."  Too  well  able  to  seize  a  passing  mo- 
ment of  enjoyment,  he  was  always  scheming,  never  perform- 
ing :  always  looking  forward  with  some  romantic  plan  which 
was  sure  to  succeed,  and  never  put  in  practice.  I  believe 
ho  wrote  more  titles  of  non-existing  books  than  Rabelais. 
At  length  he  found  his  mistake.  My  poor  father  I  He 
grew  deeply  acquainted  with  prisons,  and  began  to  lose  his 
graces  and  his  good  name,  and  became  irritable  with  conscious 
error,  and  almost  took  hope  out  of  the  heart  that  loved  him, 
and  was  too  often  glad  to  escape  out  of  its  society.  Yet 
such  an  art  had  he  of  making  his  home  comfortable  when 
he  chose,  and  of  settling  himself  to  the  most  tranquil  pleas- 
ures, that  if  she  could  have  ceased  to  look  forward  about  her 
children,  I  believe,  with  all  his  faults,  those  evenings  would 
have  brought  unmingled  satisfaction  to  her,  when,  after 
settling  the  little  apartment,  brightening  the  iire,  and  bring- 
ing out  the  cofi'ee,  my  mother  knew  that  her  husband  was 


24  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

going  to  read  Sauriu  or  Barrow  to  her,  with  his  fine  voice, 
and  unequivocal  enjoyment. 

We  thus  struggled  on  between  quiet  and  disturbance,  be- 
tween placid  readings  and  frightful  knocks  at  the  door,  and 
sickness,  and  calamity,  and  hopes,  which  hardly  ever  forsook 
us.  One  of  my  brothers  went  to  sea — a  great  blow  to  my 
poor  mother.  The  next  was  articled  to  an  attorney.  My 
brother  Hobert  became  pupil  to  an  engraver,  and  my  brother 
John  apprentice  to  Mr.  E^eyncll,  the  printer,  whose  kindly 
manners,  and  deep  iron  voice,  I  well  remember  and  respect. 
I  had  also  a  regard  for  the  speaking  trumpet,  which  ran  all 
the  way  up  his  tall  house,  and  conveyed  his  rugged  whispers 
to  his  men.  And  his  goodly  wife,  proud  of  her  husband's 
grandfather,  the  bishop  ;  never  shall  I  forget  how  much  I 
loved  her  for  her  portly  smiles  and  good  dinners,  and  how 
often  she  used  to  make  me  measure  heights  with  her  fair 
daughter  Caroline,  and  found  me  wanting  ;  which  I  thought 
not  quite  so  hospitable. 

As  my  father's  misfortunes,  in  the  first  instance,  were  owing 
to  feelings  the  most  respected,  so  the  causes  of  them  subse- 
quently (and  the  reader  will  be  good  enough  to  keep  this  in 
mind)  were  not  unmixed  with  feelings  of  the  kindest  nature. 
He  hampered  himself  greatly  with  becoming  security  for 
other  people  ;  and,  though  unable  to  settle  himself  to  any 
regular  work,  his  pen  was  always  at  the  service  of  those  who 
required  it  for  memorials  or  other  helps.  As  to  his  children, 
he  was  healthy  and  sanguine,  and  always  looked  forward  to 
being  able  to  do  something  for  them  :  and  something  for 
them  he  did,  if  it  was  only  in  grafting  his  animal  spirits  on 
the  maternal  stock,  and  setting  them  an  example  of  independ- 
ent thinking.  But  he  did  more.  He  really  took  care,  con- 
sidering his  unbusiness-like  habits,  toward  settling  them  in 
some  line  of  life.  It  is  our  faults,  not  his,  if  we  have  not 
been  all  so  successful  as  we  might  have  been  :  at  least  it  is 
no  more  his  fault  than  that  of  the  West  Indian  blood  of 
which  we  all  partake,  and  which  has  disposed  all  of  us, 
more  or  less,  to  a  certain  aversion  from  business.  And  if  it 
may  be  some  vanity  in  us,  at  least  it  is  no  dishonor  to  oui 
turn  of  mind,  to  hope,  that  we  may  have  been  the  means  of 


INVLNXJBLE  TENDENCY  TO  CHEERFULNESS.  25 

circulating  more  knowledge  and  entertainment  in  society, 
than  if  he  had  attained  the  bishopric  he  looked  for,  and  left 
us  ticketed  and  labeled  among  the  acquiescent. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  liis  life,  my  father's  affairs  were 
greatly  retrieved  by  the  help  of  his  sister,  Mrs.  Dayrell,  who 
came  over  with  a  property  from  Barbados.      My  aunt  was 
generous  ;  part  of  her  property  came  among  us  also  by  a 
marriage  ;   and  my  father's  West  Indian  sun  was  again  warm 
upon  him.      On  his  sister's  death,  to  be  sure,  his  struggles  re- 
commenced, though  nothing  in  comparison  to  what  they  had 
been.      Recommence,  however,  they  did ;   and  yet  so  sanguine 
was  he  in  his  intentions  to  the  last,  and  so  accustomed  had 
my  mother  been  to  try  to  believe  in  him,  and   to  persuade 
lierself  she  did,  that  not  long  before  she  died  he  made  the 
most  solemn  promises  of  amendment,   which  by  chance  I 
could  not  help  overhearing,  and  which  she  received  Avith  a 
tenderness  and  atone  of  joy,  the  remembrance  of  which  brings 
the  tears  into  ray  eyes.      My  father  had  one  taste  well  suit- 
ed to  his  profession,  and  in  him,  I  used  to  think,  remarkable. 
He  was  very  fond  of  sermons  ;   which  he  was  rarely  tired  of 
reading,  or  my  mother  of  hearing.      I  have  mentioned  the 
effect  which  these  used  to  have  upon  her.      When  she  died, 
he  could  not  bear  to  think  she  was  dead  ;   yet  retaining,  in 
the  midst  of  his  tears,  his  indestructible  tendency  to  seize  on 
a  cheering  reflection,  he  turned  his  very  despair  into  consola- 
tion;  and  in  saying  "  She  is  not  dead,  but  sleeps,"  I  verily 
believe  the  image  became  almost  a  literal  thing  with   him. 
Besides  his  fondness  for  sermons,  he  was  a  great  reader  of  the 
Bible.      His  copy  of  it  is  scored  with  manuscript ;   and  I  be- 
lieve he  read  a  portion  of  it  every  morning  to  the  last,  let  him 
have  been  as  right  or  as  wrong  as  he  pleased  for  the  rest  of 
the  day.      This  was  not  hypocrisy  ;   it  was  habit,  and   real 
fondness  :   though,  while  was  no  hypocrite,   he  was  not,    I 
must  confess,  remarkable  for  being  explicit  about  himself; 
nor  did  he  cease  to  dogmatize  in  a  sort  of  official  manner 
upon  faith  and  virtue,  lenient  as  he  thought  himself  bound 
to  be  to  particular  instances  of  frailty.      To  young  people, 
who  had  no  secrets  from  him,  he  was  especially  indulgent, 
as  I  have  good  reason  to  know.      He  delighted  to  show  hie 
VOL    I. — B 


26  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

sense  of  a  candor  in  others,  which  I  believe  he  would  have 
practiced  himself,  had  he  been  taught  it  early.  For  many 
years  before  his  death,  he  had  greatly  relaxed  in  the  ortho- 
doxy of  his  religious  opinions.  Both  he  and  my  mother  had 
become  Unitarians.  They  were  also  Universalists,  and  great 
admirers  of  Mr.  Winchester,  particularly  my  mother.*  My 
father  was  willing,  however,  to  hear  all  sides  of  the  question, 
and  used  to  visit  the  chapels  of  the  most  popular  preachers 
of  all  denominations.  His  favorite  among  them,  I  think, 
was  Mr.  ^Vorthington,  who  preached  at  a  chajjcl  in  Long 
Acre,  and  had  a  strong  natural  eloquence.  Politics  and 
divinity  occupied  almost  all  the  conversation  that  I  heard  at 
our  fire-side.  It  is  a  pity  my  father  had  been  so  spoilt  a 
child,  and  had  strayed  so  much  out  of  his  sphere  ;  for  he  could 
be  contented  with  little.  He  was  one  of  the  last  of  the 
gentry  who  retained  the  old  fashion  of  smoking.  He  indulged 
in  it  every  night  before  he  went  to  bed,  which  lie  did  at  an 
early  hour  ;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  see  him  sit,  in  his  tran- 
quil and  gentlemanly  manner,  and  relate  anecdotes  of  "  my 
Lord  North"  and  the  Pk,ockingham  administration,  interspersed 
with  those  mild  pufls  and  urbane  resumptions  of  the  pipe. 
How  often  have  I  thought  of  him  under  this  aspect,  aud 
longed  for  the  state  of  society  that  might  have  encouraged 
him  to  be  more  successful  I  Had  he  lived  twenty  years  lon- 
ger he  would  have  thought  it  was  coming.  He  died  in  the 
year  1809,  aged  fifty-seven,  and  was  buried  in  the  church- 
yard in  Bishopsgate-street.  I  remember  they  quarreled  over 
his  coffin  for  the  perquisites  of  the  candles;  which  put  me 
upon  a  great  many  reflections,  both  on  him  and  on  the  world. 
My  grandfather,  by  my  mother's  side,  was  Stephen 
Shewell,  merchant  of  Philadelphia,  who  sent  out  his  "  ar- 
gosies."    His   mother  was  a   Quaker,  and  he,  himself,    I 

*  '  The  Universalists  can  not,  properly  speaking,  be  called  a  dis- 
tinct sect,  as  they  arc  frequently  found  .scattered  among  various  de- 
nominations. They  are  so  named  from  holding  the  benevolent  opinion, 
that  all  mankind,  nay,  even  the  demons  themselves,  will  be  finally  re- 
stored to  happiness,  through  the  mercy  of  Almighty  God." — History 
of  all  Religio7is  and  Religious  Ceremonies,  page  263.  What  an  impiety 
toward  "Almighty  God,"  that  any  body  could  ever  have  thousrht  the 
reverse ! 


MATERNAL  KINDRED.  27 

believe,  descended  from  a  Quaker  stock.  He  had  ships 
trading  to  England,  Holland,  and  the  West  Indies,  and  used 
to  put  his  sons  and  nephews  in  them  as  captains,  probably 
to  save  charges  ;  for,  in  every  thing  but  stocking  his  cellars 
with  provision,  he  Avas  penurious.  For  sausages  and  "  bo- 
targoes"  (first  authors,  perhaps,  of  the  jaundice  in  our  blood), 
Friar  John  would  have  commended  him.      As  Chaucer  says, 

"It  snewed,  in  his  house,  of  meat  and  drink." 

On  that  side  of  the  family  we  seem  all  sailors  and  rough 
subjects,  with  a  mitigation  (on  the  female  part)  of  Quaker- 
ism; as,  on  the  father's  side,  we  are  Creoles  and  claret- 
drinkers,  very  polite  and  clerical. 

My  grandmother's  maiden  name  was  Bicklcy.  I  believe 
her  family  came  from  Buckinghamshire.  The  coat  of  arms 
arc  three  half  moons  ;  which  I  happen  to  recollect,  because 
of  a  tradition  we  had,  that  an  honorable  augmentation  was 
made  to  them  of  three  wheat-sheaves,  in  revVard  of  some 
gallant  achievement  performed  in  cutting  off  a  convoy  of  pro- 
visions by  Sir  William  Bickley,  a  partisan  of  the  House  of 
Orange,  who  was  made  a  banneret.  My  grandmother  was 
an  open-hearted,  cheerful  woman,  of  a  good  healthy  blood, 
and  as  generous  as  her  husband  was  otherwise.  The  family 
consisted  of  five  daughters  and  two  sons.  One  of  the 
daughters  died  unmarried ;  the  three  surviving  ones  were 
Uitely  wives  and  mothers  in  Philadelphia.  They  and  their 
husbands,  agreeably  to  the  American  law  of  equal  division, 
were  in  the  receipt  of  a  pretty  property  in  lands  and  houses  ; 
our  due  share  of  which,  some  inadvertence  on  our  parts 
appears  to  have  forfeited.  I  confess  I  have  often  wished,  at 
the  close  of  a  day's  work,  that  people  were  not  so  excessively 
delicate  on  legal  points,  and  so  afraid  of  hurling  the  feelings 
of  otliers,  by  supposing  it  possible  for  them  to  want  a  little 
of  their  grandfather's  money.  But  I  believe  I  ought  to  bhish 
while  I  say  this  ;  and  I  do.  One  of  my  uncles  died  in  En- 
gland, a  mild,  excellent  creature;  more  fit  for  solitude  than 
the  sea.  The  other,  my  uncle  Stephen,  a  fine  handsointt 
fellow  of  great  good  nature  and  gallantry,  was  never  heard 
of,  after  leaving  the  port  of  Philadelphia  for  ^he  West  Indies 


28  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

He  had  a  practice  of  crowding  too  much  sail,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  his  destruction.  They  said  he  did  it  "to 
get  back  to  his  ladies."  My  uncle  was  the  means  of  saving 
his  namesake,  my  brother  Stephen,  from  a  singular  destiny. 
Some  Indians,  who  came  into  the  city  to  traffic,  had  been 
observed  to  notice  my  brother  a  good  deal.  It  is  supposed 
they  saw  in  his  tall  little  person,  dark  face,  and  long  black 
hair,  a  resemblance  to  themselves.  One  day  they  enticed 
him  from  my  grandfather's  house  in  Front-street,  and  taking 
him  to  the  Delaware,  which  was  close  by,  were  carrying  him 
off  across  the  river,  when  his  uncle  descried  them  and  gave 
the  alarm.  His  threats  induced  them  to  come  back  ;  other- 
wise, it  is  thought,  they  intended  to  carry  him  into  their  own 
quarters,  and  bring  him  up  as  an  Indian  ;  so  that,  instead 
of  a  rare  character  of  another  sort — an  attorney  who  would 
rather  compound  a  quarrel  for  his  clients  than  get  rich  by  it 
— we  might  have  had  for  a  brother  the  Great  Buffalo, 
Bloody  Bear,  or  some  such  grim  personage.  I  will  indulge 
myself  with  the  liberty  of  observing  in  this  place,  that  Avith 
great  diversity  of  character  among  us,  with  strong  points  of 
dispute  even  among  ourselves,  and  with  the  usual  amount, 
though  not  perhaps  exactly  the  like  nature,  of  infirmities 
common  to  other  people — some  of  us,  may  be,  with  greater, 
— we  have  all  been  persons  who  inherited  the  power  of 
making  sacrifices  for  the  sake  of  a  principle. 

My  grandfather,  though  intimate  with  Dr.  Franklin,  was 
secretly  on.  the  British  side  of  the  question  when  the  Ameri- 
can war  broke  out.  He  professed  to  be  neutral,  and  to 
attend  only  to  business  ;  but  his  neutrality  did  not  avail  him. 
One  of  his  most  valuably  laden  ships  was  burnt  in  the 
Delaware  by  the  Revolutionists,  to  prevent  its  getting  into  the 
hands  of  the  British  ;  and  besides  making  free  with  his  botar- 
goes,  they  dispatched  every  now  and  then  a  file  of  soldiers  to 
rifle  his  house  of  every  thing  else  that  could  be  serviceable  : 
linen,  blankets,  &c.  And  this,  unfortunately,  was  only  a  taste 
of  what  he  was  to  sufler  ;  for,  emptying  his  mercantile  stores 
from  time  to  time,  they  paid  him  with  their  continential 
currency,  paper-money  ;  the  depreciation  of  which  was  so 
great  as  to  leave  him,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  bankrupt  of 


AUTHOR'S  MOTHER.  29 

every  thing  but  some  houses,  which  his  wife  brought  him  ; 
they  amounted  to  a  sufficiency  for  the  family  support  :  and 
thus,  after  all  his  cunning  neutralities,  and  his  preference  of 
individual  to  public  good,  he  owed  all  that  he  retained  to  a 
generous  and  unspeculating  woman.  His  saving  grace,  how- 
ever, was  not  on  every  possible  occasion  confined  to  his 
money.  He  gave  a  very  strong  instance  (for  him)  of  his  par- 
tiality to  the  British  cause,  by  secreting  in  his  house  a  gen- 
tleman of  the  name  of  Slater,  who  commanded  a  small 
armed  vessel  -on  the  Delaware,  and  who  was  not  long  since 
residing  in  London.  Mr.  Slater  had  been  taken  prisoner, 
and  confined  at  some  miles'  distance  from  Philadelphia.  He 
contrived  to  make  his  escape,  and  astonished  my  grand- 
father's family  by  appearing  before  them  at  night,  drenched 
in  the  rain,  which  descends  in  torrents  in  that  climate. 
They  secreted  him  for  several  months  in  a  room  at  the  top 
of  the  house. 

My  mother  at  that  time,  was  a  brunette  with  fine  eyes, 
a  tall,  lady-like  person,  and  hair  blacker  than  is  seen  of 
English  growth.  It  was  supposed  that  Anglo-Americans 
already  began  to  exhibit  the  influence  of  climate  in  their 
appearance.  The  late  Mr.  West  told  me,  that  if  he  had 
met  myself  or  any  of  my  brothers  in  the  streets,  he  should 
have  pronounced,  without  knowing  us,  that  we  were  Amer- 
icans. A  likeness  has  been  discovered  between  us  and  some 
of  the  Indians  in  his  pictures.  My  mother  had  no  accom- 
plishments but  the  two  best  of  all,  a  love  of  nature  and  of  books. 
Dr.  Franklin  oflered  to  teach  her  the  guitar  ;  but  she  was 
too  bashful  to  become  his  pupil.  She  regretted  this  after- 
ward, partly  no  doubt  for  having  missed  so  illustrious  a 
master.  Her  first  child,  who  died,  was  named  after  him. 
I  know  not  whether  the  anecdote  is  new  ;  but  I  have  heard 
that  when  Dr.  Franklin  invented  the  Harmonica,  he  con- 
cealed it  from  his  wife  till  the  instrument  was  fit  to  play ; 
and  then  woke  her  with  it  one  night,  when  she  took  it  for 
the  music  of  angels.  Among  the  visitors  at  my  grand- 
father's house,  besides  Franklin,  was  Thomas  Paine  ;  whom 
I  have  heard  my  mother  speak  of,  as  having  a  countenance 
that  inspired  her  with  terror.      I  believe  his  aspect  was  not 


30  LIFK  OF  LEIGH  HUiXT. 

captivating ;  but  most  likely  his  political  and  religious  opiu- 
ious  did  it  no  good  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair  loyalist. 

My  mother  was  diifideut  of  her  personal  merit,  but  she 
had  great  energy  of  principle.  When  the  troubles  broke  out, 
and  my  lather  took  that  violent  part  in  favor  of  the  king,  a 
letter  was  received  by  her  from  a  person  high  in  authority, 
stating,  that  if  her  husband  would  desist  from  opposition  to 
the  general  wishes  of  the  colonists,  he  should  remain  in  se- 
curity ;  but  that  if  he  thought  fit  to  do  otherwise,  he  must 
Builer  the  consequences  which  inevitably  awaited  him.  The 
letter  concluded  with  advising  her,  as  she  valued  her  hus- 
band's and  family's  happiness,  to  use  her  influence  with  him 
to  act  accordingly.  To  this,  "in  the  spirit  of  old  Rome  and 
Greece,"  as  one  of  her  sons  has  proudly  and  justly  observed  (I 
Avill  add,  of  Old  England,  and,  though  contrary  to  our  royaUst 
opinions,  of  New  America  too),  my  mother  replied,  that  she 
knew  her  husband's  mind  too  well  to  suppose  for  a  moment 
that  he  would  so  degrade  himself;  and  that  the  writer  of 
the  letter  entirely  mistook  her,  if  he  thought  her  capable  of 
endeavoring  to  persuade  him  to  an  action  contrary  to  the  con- 
victions of  his  heart,  whatever  the  consequences  threatened 
might  be.  Yet  the  heart  of  this  excellent  woman,  strong  as 
it  was,  was  already  beating  with  anxiety  for  what  might 
occur  ;  and  on  the  day  when  my  father  was  seized,  she  fell 
into  a  fit  of  the  jaundice,  so  violent  as  to  affect  her  ever  after- 
ward, and  subject  a  previously  fine  constitution  to  every  ill 
that  came  across  it. 

It  was  nearly  two  years  before  my  mother  could  set  olF 
with  her  children  for  England.  She  embarked  in  the 
Earl  of  EJ)ii7ig]iam  frigate,  Captain  Dempster,  who,  from 
the  moment  she  was  drawn  up  the  sides  of  the  vessel  with 
her  little  boys,  conceived  a  pity  and  respect  for  her,  and  paid 
her  the  most  cordial  attention.  In  truth,  he  felt  more  pity 
for  her  than  he  chose  to  express  ;  for  the  vessel  was  old  and 
battered,  and  he  thought  the  voyage  not  without  danger. 
Nor  was  it.  They  did  very  well  till  th?y  came  off  the 
Scilly  Islands,  when  a  storm  arose  which  threatened  to  sink 
them.  The  ship  was  with  difficulty  kept  above  water. 
Here  my  mother  again  showed  how  courageous  her  heart 


HER  BEHAVIOR  AT  SEA.  31 

could  be  by  the  very  strength  of  its  tenderness.  There  was 
a  lady  in  the  vessel  who  had  betrayed  weaknesses  of  various 
sorts  during  the  voyage  ;  and  who  even  went  so  far  as  to 
resent  the  superior  opinion  which  the  gallant  captain  could 
not  help  entertaining  of  her  fellow-passenger.  My  mother, 
instead  of  giving  way  to  tears  and  lamentations,  did  all  she 
could  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  her  children.  The  lady  in 
question  did  the  reverse  ;  and  my  mother,  feeling  the  neces 
sity  of  the  case,  and  touched  with  pity  for  children  in  the 
same  danger  as  her  own,  was  at  length  moved  to  break 
through  the  delicacy  she  had  observed,  and  expostulate 
strongly  with  her,  to  the  increased  admiration  of  the  cap- 
tain, who  congratulated  himself  on  having  a  female  passenger 
so  truly  worthy  of  the  name  of  woman.  Many  years  after- 
ward, near  the  same  spot,  and  during  a  similar  danger,  her 
son  the  writer  of  this  book,  with  a  wife  and  seven  children 
around  him,  had  occasion  to  call  her  to  mind  ;  and  the  ex- 
ample was  of  service  even  to  him,  a  man.  It  was  thought 
%  miracle  that  the  J^arl  of  Effingham  was  saved.  It  was 
driven  into  Swansea  Bay,  and  borne  along  by  the  heaving 
might  of  the  waves  into  a  shallow,  where  no  vessel  of  so  large 
a  size  ever  appealed  before ;  nor  could  it  ever  have  got  there, 
but  by  so  unwonted  an  overlifting. 

Having  been  born  nine  years  later  than  the  youngest  of 
my  brothers,  I  have  no  recollection  of  my  mother's  earlier 
aspect.  Her  eyes  were  always  fine,  and  her  person  lady- 
like ;  her  hair  also  retained  its  color  for  a  long  period  ;  but 
her  brown  complexion  had  been  exchanged  for  a  jaundiced 
one,  which  she  retained  through  life  ;  and  her  cheeks  were 
sunken,  and  her  mouth  drawn  down  with  sorrow  at  the 
corners.  She  retained  the  energy  of  her  character  on  great 
occasions  ;  but  her  spirit  in  ordinary  was  weakened,  and  she 
looked  at  the  bustle  and  discord  of  the  present  state  of  society 
with  a  frightened  aversion.  My  father's  danger,  and  the  war- 
whoops  of  the  Indians  which  she  heard  in  Philadelphia,  had 
shak  !n  her  soul  as  well  as  frame.  The  sight  of  two  men 
fighting  in  the  steets  would  drive  her  in  tears  down  anotliei 
road  ;  and  I  remember,  when  we  lived  near  the  park,  she 
would  take  me  a  long  circuit  out  of  the  way  rather  than 


33  1.1 1'i:  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

hazard  the  spectacle  of  the  soldiers.  Little  did  she  think  of 
the  timidity  with  which  she  was  thus  inoculating  me,  and 
what  difficulty  I  should  have,  when  I  went  to  school,  to  sus- 
tain all  those  fine  theories,  and  that  unbending  resistance  to 
oppression,  which  she  inculcated.  However,  perhaps,  it 
ultimately  turned  out  for  the  best.  One  must  feel  more  than 
usual  for  the  sore  places  of  humanity,  even  to  fight  properly 
in  their  behalf  Never  shall  I  forget  her  face,  as  it  used  to 
appear  to  me  coming  up  the  cloisters,  with  that  weary  hang 
of  the  head  on  one  side,  and  that  melancholy  smile  I 

One  holiday,  in  a  severe  winter,  as  she  was  taking  me  home, 
she  was  petitioned  for  charity  by  a  woman  sick  and  ill-cloth- 
ed. It  was  in  Blackfriars'  Road,  I  think  about  midway. 
My  mother,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  turned  up  a  gateway,  or 
some  such  place,  and  beckoning  the  woman  to  follow,  took 
off  her  flannel  petticoat  and  gave  it  her.  It  is  supposed  that 
a  cold  which  ensued,  fixed  the  rheumatism  upon  her  for  life. 
Actions  like  these  have  doubtless  been  often  performed,  and 
do  not  of  necessity  imply  any  great  virtue  in  the  performer : 
but  they  do  if  they  are  of  a  piece  v/ith  the  rest  of  the  char- 
acter.     Saints  have  been  made  for  charities  no  greater. 

The  reader  will  allow  me  to  quote  a  passage  out  of  a  poem 
of  mine,  because  it  was  suggested  by  a  recollection  I  had 
upon  me  of  this  excellent  woman.  It  is  almost  the  only 
passage  in  that  poem  worth  repeating  ;  which  I  mention,  in 
order  that  he  may  lay  the  quotation  to  its  right  account, 
and  not  suppose  I  am  anxious  to  repeat  my  verses  because 
I  fancy  they  must  bo  good.  la  every  thing  but  the  word 
"happy,"  the  picture  is  from  life.  The  bird  spoken  of  is 
the  nightingale  :  the 

"  Bird  of  wakeful  glow, 
Whose  louder  song  is  like  the  voice  of  life, 
Triumphant  o'er  death's  image ;  but  whose  deep, 
Low,  lovelier  note  is  like  a  gentle  wife, 
A  poor,  a  pensive,  yet  a  happy  one. 
Stealing  when  daylight's  common  tasks  are  done, 
An  hour  for  mother's  work ;   and  singing  low, 
While  her  tired  husband  and  her  children  sleep." 

I  have  spoken  of  my  mother  during  my  father's  troubles 


HER  KINDNESS  TO  ERROR.  33 

in  England.  She  stood  by  him  through  them  all ;  and  in 
every  thing  did  more  honor  to  marriage,  than  marriage  did 
good  to  either  of  them  :  for  it  brought  little  happiness  to 
her,  and  too  many  children  to  both.  Of  his  changes  of 
opinion,  as  well  as  of  fortune,  she  partook  also.  She 
became  a  Unitarian,  a  Universalist,  perhaps  a  Republican  ; 
and  in  her  new  opinions,  as  in  her  old,  was  apt,  I  sus- 
pect, to  be  a  little  too  peremptory,  and  to  wonder  at  those 
who  could  be  of  the  other  side.  It  was  her  only  fault.  She 
would  have  mended  it,  had  she  lived  till  now.  Though  not 
a  republican  myself,  I  have  been  thought,  in  my  time,  to 
speak  too  severely  of  kings  and  princes.  I  think  I  did,  and 
that  society  is  no  longer  to  be  bettered  in  that  manner,  but  in 
a  much  calmer  and  nobler  way.  But  I  was  a  witness,  in 
my  childhood,  to  a  .great  deal  of  suflering  ;  I  heard  of  more 
all  over  the  world  ;  and  kings  and  princes  bore  a  great  share 
in  the  causes  to  which  they  were  traced.  Some  of  those 
causes  were  not  to  be  denied. 

It  is  now  understood,  on  all  hands,  that  the  continuation  of 
the  American  war  was  owing  to  the  personal  stubbornness 
of  the  king.  My  mother,  in  her  indignation  at  him,  for  beino' 
the  cause  of  so  much  unnecessary  bloodshed,  thought  that 
the  unfortunate  malady  into  which  he  fell  was  a  judgment 
of  Providence.  The  truth  is,  it  was  owing  to  mal-organiza- 
tion,  and  to  the  diseases  of  his  father  and  mother.  A  healthy 
consort  restored  reason  to  the  family  ;  and  the  politics  of 
Queen  Victoria  have  been  as  remarkable  for  good  sense,  as 
those  of  her  grandfather  were  too  frequently  otherwise. 

My  mother's  intolerance,  after  all,  was  only  in  theory. 
When  any  thing  was  to  be  done,  charity  in  her  always  ran 
before  faith.  If  she  could  have  served  and  benefited  the 
king  himself  personally,  indignation  would  soon  have  given 
way  to  humanity.  She  had  a  high  opinion  of  every  thing 
that  was  decorous  and  feminine  on  the  part  of  a  wife  ;  yet 
when  a  poor,  violent  woman,  the  wife  of  an  amiable  and  elo- 
quent preacher,  went  so  far  on  one  occasion  as  to  bite  liis  hand 
in  a  fit  of  jealous  rage  as  he  was  going  to  ascend  his  pulpit 
(and  he  preached  with  it  in  great  pain),  she  was  the  only 
female  of  her  acquaintance  that  continued  to  visit  her ;    al 


34  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

leging  that  she  wanted  society  and  comfort  so  much  the  more. 
She  had  the  highest  notions  of  chastity  ;  yet  when  a  servant 
came  to  her,  who  could  get  no  place  because  she  had  had 
an  illegitimate  child,  my  mother  took  her  into  her  family, 
upon  the  strength  of  her  candor  and  her  destitute  condition, 
and  was  served  with  an  affectionate  gratitude. 

My  mother's  favorite  books  were  Dr.  Young's  Night- 
Thoughts  (which  was  a  pity),  and  Mrs.  Howe's  Devout 
Exercises  of  the  Heart.  I  remember  also  her  expressing 
great  admiration  of  the  novels  of  Mrs.  Inchbald,  especially 
the  Si»iple  Story.  She  was  very  fond  of  poetry,  and  used 
to  hoard  my  verses  in  her  pocket-book,  and  encourage  me  to 
Avrite,  by  showing  them  to  the  Wests  and  the  Thorntons. 
Her  friends  loved  and  honored  her  to  the  last  :  and,  I  believe, 
they  retained  their  regard  for  the  family. 

My  mother's  last  illness  was  long,  and  was  tormented  with 
rheumatism.  I  envy  my  brother  Robert  the  recollection  of 
the  filial  attentions  he  paid  her  ;  but  they  shall  be  as  much 
known  as  I  can  make  them,  not  because  he  was  my  brother 
(which  is  nothing),  but  because  he  was  a  good  son,  which  is 
much  ;  and  every  good  son  and  mother  will  be  my  warrant. 
My  other  brothers,  who  were  married,  were  away  with  their 
families  ;  and  I,  who  ought  to  have  attended  more,  was  as 
giddy  as  I  was  young,  or  rather  a  great  deal  more  so.  I  at- 
tended, but  not  enough.  How  often  liave  we  occasion  to 
wish  that  we  could  be  older  or  younger  than  we  arc,  accord- 
ing as  we  desire  to  have  the  benefit  of  gayety  or  experience  I 
Her  greatest  pleasure  during  her  decay  was  to  lie  on  a  sofa, 
looking  at  the  setting  sun.  She  used  to  liken  it  to  the  door  of 
heaven ;  and  fancy  her  lost  children  there,  waiting  for  her.  She 
died  in  the  fifty-third  year  of  her  age,  in  a  little  miniature 
house  which  stands  in  a  row  behind  the  church  that  has 
been  since  built  in  Somers  Town  ;  and  she  was  buried,  as 
the  had  always  wished  to  be,  in  the  church-yard  of  Hamp- 
stead. 


CHAPTEPv  II. 

CHILDHOOD. 

The  Leigh  family. — Preposterous  charge  against  it. — Beautiful  charac 
ter  in  Fielding  applied  to  Jlr.  Leigh  by  his  son. — Author's  birth- 
place, Southgate. — Dr.  Trinder,  clergyman  and  physician. — Ques- 
tion of  sporting. — Character  of  Izaak  Walton. — Cruelty  of  a  cock- 
fighter. — Calais  and  infant  heresy. — Porpoises  and  dolphins. — A  des- 
potic brother. — Supernatural  fears  in  childhood. — Anecdote  of  an 
oath. — Martial  toys. — Infant  church-militant. — Manners  and  customs 
of  the  time. — Music  and  poetry. — Memories  of  songs. — Authors  in 
vogue. — Pitt  and  Fox. — Lords  and  Commons. 

I  HAVE  spoken  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos,  to  whose  nephew, 
Mr.  Leigh,  my  father  became  tutor.  Mr.  Leigh,  who  gave 
me  his  name,  was  son  of  the  duke's  sister,  Lady  Carohne, 
and  died  a  member  of  ParUament  for  Addlestrope.  He  was 
one  of  the  kindest  and  gentlest  of  men,  addicted  to  those 
tastes  for  poetry  and  sequestered  pleasure,  which  have  been 
conspicuous  in  his  son,  Lord  Leigh  ;  for  all  which  reasons  it 
would  seem,  and  contrary  to  the  usurping  quaUties  in  such 
cases  made  and  provided,  he  and  his  family  were  subjected 
the  other  day  to  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  charges  that 
a  defeated  claim  ever  brought  drunken  witnesses  to  set  up  ; 
no  less  than  the  murder  and  burial  of  a  set  of  masons,  who 
were  employed  in  building  a  bridge,  and  whose  destruction 
in  the  act  of  so  doing  was  to  bury  both  them  and  a  monu- 
ment which  they  knew  of,  for  ever  I  To  complete  the  ro- 
man:e  of  the  tragedy,  a  lady,  the  wife  of  the  usurper,  pre- 
sides 3ver  the  catastrophe.  She  cries,  "  Let  go,"  while  the 
y  )or  wretches  are  raising  a  stone  at  night-time,  amidst  a 
scene  of  torches  and  seclusion  ;  and  down  goes  the  stone  aid- 
ed by  this  tremendous  father  and  son,  and  crushes  the  vic- 
tims of  her  ambition !  She  meant,  as  Cowley  says  Goliah 
did  of  David, 

"  At  onco  their  murder  and  their  monument." 

If  a  charge  of  the  most  awful  crimes  could  bo  dug  up 


J6  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

against  the  memories  ol"  such  men.  as  Thomson  and  Shen- 
stone,  or  of  Cowley,  or  Cowper,  or  the  "  Man  of  Ross,"  it 
could  not  have  created  more  laughing  astonishment  in  the 
minds  of  those  Avho  knew  them,  than  such  a  charge  against 
the  family  of  the  Lcighs.  Its  present  representative  in  the 
notes  to  his  volume  of  poems,  printed  some  years  ago,  quotes 
the  "  following  beautiful  passage"  out  of  Fielding  : 

"  It  was  the  middle  of  May,  and  the  morning  was  re- 
markably serene,  when  Mr.  Allworthy  walked  forth  on  the 
terrace,  whefe  the  dawn  opened  every  minute  that  lovely 
prospect  we  have  before  described,  to  his  eye.  And  now- 
having  sent  forth  streams  of  light  which  ascended  to  the 
firmament  before  him,  as  harbingers  preceding  his  pomp,  in 
the  full  blaze  of  his  majesty  up  rose  the  sun  ;  than  which 
one  object  alone  in  this  lower  creation  could  be  more  glorious, 
and  that  Mr.  Allworthy  himself  presented  :  a  human  being 
replete  with  benevolence,  meditating  in  what  manner  he 
might  render  himself  most  acceptable  to  his  Creator  by  doing 
most  good  to  his  creatures." 

"  This,"  adds  the  quoter,  "  is  the  portrait  of  a  fictitious 
personage  ;  but  I  see  in  it  a  close  resemblance  to  one  whose 
memory  I  shall  never  cease  to  venerate." 

The  allusion  is  to  his  father,  Mr.  Leigh. 

But  I  must  not  anticipate  the  verdict  of  a  court  of  justice,* 
Indeed,  I  should  have  begged  pardon  of  my  noble  friend  for 
speaking  of  this  preposterous  accusation,  did  not  the  very  ex- 
cess of  it  force  the  words  from  my  pen,  and  were  I  not  sure 
that  my  own  father  would  have  expected  them  from  me,  had 
he  been  alive  to  hear  it.  His  lordship  must  accept  them  as 
an  effusion  of  grateful  sympathy  from  one  father  and  son  to 
another. 

Lord  Leigh  has  written  many  a  tender  and  thoughtful 
verse,  in  which,  next  to  the  domestic  affections  and  the  pro- 
gress of  human  kind,  he  shows  that  he  loves  above  all  things 
the  beauties  of  external  nature,  and  the  tranquil  pleasures 
they  suggest. 

*  The  verdict  has  since  been  given.  It  almost  seemed  ridiculous, 
it  was  so  unnecessary  ;  except,  indeed,  as  a  caution  to  the  like  of  those 
whom  it  punished, 


AUTHOR'S  BIRTH-rLACE.  .    37 

So  much  do  I  agroe  with  him,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me 
to  know  that  I  was  even  born  in  so  sweet  a  village  as  South- 
gate.  I  first  saw  the  light  there  on  the  19th  of  October 
1784.  It  found  me  cradled,  not  only  in  the  lap  of  the  na- 
ture which  I  love,  but  in  the  midst  of  the  truly  English 
scenery  which  I  love  beyond  all  other.  Middlesex  in  gene- 
ral, like  my  noble  friend's  county  of  Warwickshire,  is  a  scene 
of  trees  and  meadows,  of  "  greenery"  and  nestling  cottages  ; 
and  Southgate  is  a  prime  specimen  of  Middlesex.  It  is  a 
place  lying  out  of  the  way  of  innovation,  therefore  it  has  the 
pure,  sweet  air  of  antiquity  about  it ;  and  as  I  am  fond  of 
local  researches  in  any  quarter,  it  may  be  pardoned  me  if  in 
tliis  instance  I  would  fain  know  even  the  meaning  of  its 
name.  There  is  no  Northgate,  Eastgate,  or  Westgate  in 
Middlesex  :  what,  then,  is  Southgate  ?  No  topographer  tells 
us ;  but  an  old  map  of  the  country  twenty-five  miles  round 
London,  drawn  up  some  years  previous  to  ray  childhood,  is 
now  before  me  ;  and  on  looking  at  the  boundaries  of  Enfield 
Chase,  I  see  that  the  "  Chase-gate,"  the  name  most  likely  of 
the  principal  entrance,  is  on  the  north  side  of  it,  by  North- 
Hall  and  Potter's  Bar  :  while  Southgate,  which  has  also  the 
name  of  "  South-street,"  is  on  the  Chase's  opposite  border ; 
so  that  it  seems  evident,  that  Southgate  meant  the  southern, 
entrance  into  the  Chase,  and  that  the  name  became  that  of  a 
village  from  the  growth  of  a  street.  The  street,  in  all  prob- 
ability, was  the  consequence  of  a  fair  held  in  a  wood  which 
ran  on  the  western  side  of  it,  and  which,  in  the  map,  is  de- 
signated "  Bush  Fair."  Bush,  in  old  English,  meant  not 
only  a  hedge,  but  a  wood  ;  as  Bois  and  Bosco  do  in  French 
and  Italian.  Moses  and  the  "burning  bush"  is  Moses  and 
the  "  burning  wood  ;"  which,  by  the  way,  presents  a  much 
grander  idea  than  the  modicum  of  hedge,  commonly  assigned 
to  the  celestial  apparition.  There  is  a  good  deal  more  wood 
in  the  map  than  is  now  to  be  found.  I  wander  in  imagina- 
tion through  the  spots  marked  in  the  neighborhood,  with 
their  pleasant  names — Woodside,  Wood-green,  Palmer-green 
Nightingale-hall,  &c.,  and  fancy  my  father  and  mother  listen- 
ing to  the  nightingales,  and  loving  the  new  little  baby,  who 
has  now  lived  to  see  more  years  than  they  did. 


2f^HOi  '^ 


38  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Southgate  lies  in  a  cross-country  road,  running  from  Ed- 
monton through  Enfield  Chase  into  Hertfordshire.  It  is  in 
the  parish  of  Edmonton ;  so  that  we  may  fancy  the  Merry 
Devil  of  that  place  still  playing  his  pranks  hereabouts,  and 
helping  innocent  lovers  to  a  wedding,  as  in  the  sweet  little 
play  attributed  to  Drayton.  For  as  to  any  such  devils  going 
to  a  place  less  harmonious,  it  is  not  to  be  thought  possible 
by  good  Christians.  Furthermore,  to  show  what  classical 
ground  is  round  about  Soutligate,  and  how  it  is  associated 
with  the  best  days  of  English  genius,  both  old  and  new, 
Edmonton  is  the  birth-place  of  Marlowe,  the  father  of  our 
drama,  and  of  my  friend  Home,  his  congenial  celebrator. 
In  Edmonton  church-yard  lies  Charles  Lamb ;  in  Highgate 
church-yard,  Coleridge  :  and  in  Hampstead  have  resided 
Shelley  and  Keats,  to  say  nothing  of  Akenside  before  them, 
and  of  Steele  and  Arbuthnot  before  Akenside. 

But  the  neighborhood  is  dear  to  me  on  every  account ; 
for  near  Southgate  is  Colney  Hatch,  where  my  mother  be- 
came acquainted  with  some  of  her  dearest  friends,  whom  I 
shall  mention  by-and-by.  Near  Colney  Hatch  is  Finchley, 
where  our  family  resided  on  quitting  Southgate  ;  and  at  no 
great  distance  from  Finchley  is  Mill  Hill,  where  lived  ex- 
cellent Dr.  Trinder,  who  presented  in  his  person  the  rare 
combination  of  clergyman  and  i)hysician.  He  boasted  that 
he  had  cured  a  little  child  (to-wit,  myself)  of  a  dropsy  in 
the  head.  The  fact  was  contested,  I  believe,  by  the  lay 
part  of  the  profession  ;  but  it  was  believed  in  the  family, 
and  their  love  of  the  good  doctor  was  boundless.  He  de- 
served it  for  his  amiable  qualities,  as  I  shall  presently 
show. 

I  may  call  myself,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  etymologi- 
cal not  excepted,  a  son  of  mirth  and  melancholy ;  for  my 
father's  Christian  name  (as  old  students  of  onomancy  would 
have  heard  with  serious  faces)  was  Isaac,  Avhich  is  Hebrew 
for  "laughter,"  and  my  mother's  was  Mary,  which  comes 
from  a  word  in  the  same  language  signifying  "bitterness." 
And,  indeed,  as  I  do  not  remember  to  have  ever  seen  my 
mother  smile,  except  in  sorrowful  tenderness,  so  my  father's 
shouts  of  laughter  ai"e  now  ringing  in  my  ears.      Not  at  any 


! 


A  REVEREND  PHYSICIAN.  39 

expense  to  her  gravity,  for  he  loved  her,  and  thought  her  an 
angel  on  earth  ;  but  because  his  animal  spirits  were  invinci- 
ble. I  inherit  from  my  mother  a  tendency  to  jaundice, 
which  at  times  has  made  me  melancholy  enough.  I  doubt, 
indeed,  whether  I  have  passed  a  day  during  half  my  life, 
without  reflections,  the  first  germs  of  which  are  traceable  to 
sullerings  which  this  tendency  once  cost  me.  My  prevail- 
ing temperament,  nevertheless,  is  my  father's  ;  and  it  has  not 
only  enabled  me  to  turn  those  reflections  into  sources  of  tran- 
quillity and  exaltation,  but  helped  my  love  of  my  mother's 
memory  to  take  a  sort  of  pride  in  the  infirmity  which  she  be- 
queathed me.  The  energetic  influence  of  this  temperament 
must  have  been  wonderful ;  for  in  childhood  I  had  all  the 
diseases  (so  to  speak)  which  the  infant  "  spitals  know."  The 
first  of  them  was  the  real  or  supposed  dropsy  iu  the  head, 
for  which  the  reverend  physician  was  called  in. 

Let  the  reader  indulge  me  with  fancying  that  I  discharge 
a  filial  duty  in  speaking  of  this  gentleman,  and  in  saying 
something  of  his  efforts  in  the  cause  of  humanity  in  general. 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  picking  up,  the  other  day,  at  a  book- 
stall, "Practical  Sermons,  preached  at  Hendon,  in  Middlesex, 
by  W.  M.  Trinder,  LL.B.,  and  M.D.,  Puvingtons,  178G  ;" 
so  that,  supposing  LL.B.  (bachelor  of  laws)  to  mean  any 
thing  but  a  courtesy,  the  good  doctor  combined  in  his  person 
not  only  the  two,  but  the  three  professions.  He  was  clergy- 
man, physician  and  lawyer,  at  once.  How  this  singular 
triplicity  came  to  take  place,  I  can  not  say.  Probably  his 
philanthropy  induced  him  to  study  the  law,  as  that  of 
Shelley  induced  my  friend  to  walk  the  hospitals,  for  the 
purpose  of  doing  good  among  the  poor.  The  doctor  may, 
indeed,  have  studied  medicine  for  the  like  reason  ;  for  divin- 
ity appears  to  have  been  his  profession  paramount.  I  suspect 
that  he  was  physician  first,  and  clergyman  afterward. 
Perhaps  he  must  have  been  so  ;  for  I  am  not  aware  that 
clergymen  would  be  sufiercd  to  take  medical  degrees.  It 
might  be  supposed  that  he  was  a  dissenter  ;  but  he  was 
emphatically  otherwise,  very  orthodox  and  loyal.  Among 
the  subscribers'  names  to  his  sermons,  besides  that  of  my 
father,  who  was  a  Church-of-England  clergyman,  are  those 


40  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

of  several  others,  including  Iho  Ilcndou  vicar  ;  and  in  the 
list  is  Garriclc,  who  was  lord  of  the  manor.  The  sermons 
are  not  profound,  but  they  are  replete  with  feeling  and  good 
sense  ;  and  they  mix  up  the  physician  with  the  divine  to  so 
much  purpose  as  to  make  a  reader  Avish  that  the  offices 
could  be  more  frequently  combined.  One  of  them,  "  On 
Education,"  threatens  the  Divine  displeasure  against  mothers 
who  do  not  suckle  their  children  ;  and  it  enters  into  medical 
reasons  why  the  failure  to  do  so  is  injurious  to  both  parties. 
Another,  "  On  Cruelty,"  does  not  hesitate  to  condemn  the 
"  gentle  craft  "  of  anglers  ;  and  it  is  particularly  severe,  and 
probably  did  great  good,  on  the  subject  of  cock-throwing — a 
brutality  now  extinguished  ;  for  cocks  scream,  but  fish 
only  gasp  and  are  stifled  ;  so  that  the  latter  must  probably 
wait  another  century  before  the  Trindcrs  can  procure  them 
justice. 

Many  brave  and  good  men  have  been  anglers,  as  well  as 
many  men  of  a  dilFerent  description  ;  but  their  goodness 
would  have  been  complete,  and  their  bravery  of  a  more 
generous  sort,  had  they  possessed  self-denial  enough  to  look 
the  argument  in  the  face,  and  abstained  from  procuring  them- 
selves pleasure  at  the  expense  of  a  needless  infliction.  The 
charge  is  not  answered  by  the  favorite  retorts  about  elTemi- 
nacy,  God's  providence,  neighbors'  faults,  and  doing  "  no 
worse."  They  are  simple  beggings  of  the  question.  I  am 
not  aware  that  anglers,  or  sportsmen  in  general,  are  braver 
than  the  ordinary  run  of  mankind.  Sure  I  am  that  a  great 
fuss  is  made  if  they  hurt  their  fingers  ;  much  more  if  they 
lie  gasping,  like  fish,  on  the  ground.  I  am  equally  sure 
that  many  a  man  who  would  not  hurt  a  fly  is  as  brave  as 
they  are ;  and  as  to  the  reference  to  God's  providence,  it  is 
an  edge-tool  that  might  have  been  turned  against  themselves 
by  any  body  who  chose  to  pitch  them  into  the  river,  or  knock 
out  their  brains.  They  may  lament,  if  they  please,  that 
they  should  be  forced  to  think  of  pain  and  evil  at  all ;  but 
the  lamentation  would  not  be  very  magnanimous  under  any 
circumstances  ;  and  it  is  idle,  considering  that  the  manifest 
ordination  and  progress  of  things  demand  that  such  thoughts 
be  encountered.      The  question  still  returns — Why  do  they 


CHARACTER  OF  IZAAK  WALTON.  41 

seek  amusement  in  sufierings  which  are  unnecessary  and 
avoidable  ?  and  till  they  honestly  and  thoroughly  answer 
this  question,  they  must  be  content  to  be  looked  upon  as 
disingenuous  reasoners,  who  are  determined  to  retain  a  selfish 
pleasure. 

As  to  old  Izaak  Walton,  who  is  put  forward  as  a  substitute 
for  argument  on  this  question,  and  whose  sole  merits  consisted 
in  his  having  a  taste  for  nature  and  his  being  a  respectable 
citizen,  the  trumping  him  up  into  an  authority  and  a  kind  of 
saint  is  a  burlesque.  He  was  a  writer  of  conventionalities  ; 
who  having  comfortably  feathered  his  nest,  as  he  thought, 
both  in  this  world  and  in  the  world  to  come,  concluded  he  had 
nothing  more  to  do  than  to  amuse  himself  by  putting  worms 
on  a  hook  and  fish  into  his  stomach,  and  so  go  to  heaven, 
chuckling  and  singing  psalms.  There  would  be  something 
in  such  a  man  and  in  his  book  offensive  to  a  real  piety,  if 
that  piety  did  not  regard  whatever  has  happened  in  the 
world,  great  and  small,  with  an  eye  that  makes  the  best  of 
what  is  perplexing,  and  trusts  to  eventual  good  out  of  the 
worst.  Walton  was  not  the  hearty  and  thorough  advocate 
of  nature  he  is  supposed  to  have  been.  There  would  have 
been  something  to  say  for  him  on  that  score,  had  he  looked 
upon  the  sum  of  evil  as  a  thing  not  to  be  diminished.  But 
he  shared  the  opinions  of  the  most  commonplace  believers  in 
sin  and  trouble,  and  only  congratulated  himself  on  being 
exempt  from  their  consequences.  The  overweening  old  man 
found  himself  comfortably  ofl^  somehow  ;  and  it  is  good  that 
he  did.  It  is  a  comfort  to  all  of  us,  wise  or  foolish.  But  to 
reverence  him  is  a  jest.  You  might  as  well  make  a  god  of 
an  otter.  Mr.  Wordsworth,  because  of  the  servitor  manners 
of  Walton  and  his  biographies  of  divines  (all  anglers),  wrote 
an  idle  line  about  his  "meekness"  and  his  "heavenly  mem- 
ory." When  this  is  quoted  by  the  gentle  brethren,  it  will 
be  as  well  if  they  add  to  it  another  passage  from  the  same 
poet,  which  returns  to  the  only  point  at  issue,  and  upsets  the 
old  gentleman  altogether.  Mr.  Wordsworth's  admonition 
to  us  is, 

"Never  to  link  our  pastime,  or  our  pride, 
With  sufTeriiifT  to  the  meanest  thinrr  that  lives." 


42  LIKE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

It  was  formerly  thought  eflcmiiialc  not  to  hunt  Jews ; 
then  not  to  roast  heretics  ;  then  not  to  bait  bears  and  bulls ; 
then  not  to  fight  cocks,  and  to  throw  sticks  at  them.  All 
these  evidences  of  manhood  became  gradually  looked  upon 
as  no  such  evidences  at  all,  but  things  fit  only  for  manhood 
to  renounce  ;  yet  the  battles  of  Waterloo  and  of  Sobraon 
have  been  won,  and  Englishmen  are  not  a  jot  the  less  brave 
all  over  the  world.  Probably  they  are  braver,  that  is  to 
say,  more  deliberately  brave,  more  serenely  valiant  ;  also 
more  merciful  to  the  helpless,  and  that  is  the  crcJwn  of  valor. 

It  was  during  my  infancy,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  that 
there  lived  at  Hampstead  (a  very  unfit  place  for  such  a 
resident),  a  man  whose  name  T  suppress  lest  there  should  be 
pos.sessors  of  it  surviving,  and  who  was  a  famous  cock-fighter. 
He  Avas  rich  and  idle,  and  therefore  had  no  bounds  to  set  to 
the  unhappy  passions  that  raged  within  him.  It  is  related  of 
this  man,  that,  having  lost  a  bet  on  a  favorite  bird,  he  tied 
the  noble  animal  to  a  spit  in  his  kitchen  before  the  fire,  and 
notwithstanding  the  screams  of  the  sufierer  and  the  indignant 
cries  of  the  beholders,  whose  interference  he  wildly  resisted 
with  the  poker,  actually  persisted  in  keeping  it  there  burning, 
till  he  fell  down  in  his  fury  and  died. 

Let  us  hope  he  was  mad.  What,  indeed,  is  more  proba- 
ble ?  It  is  always  a  great  good,  when  the  crimes  of  a  fel- 
low-creature  can  be  traced  to  madness  ;  to  some  fault  of  the 
temperament  or  organization;  some  "jangle  of  the  sweet 
bells ;"  some  overbalance  in  the  desired  equipoise  of  the 
faculties,  originating,  perhaps,  in  accident  or  misfortune.  It 
does  not  subject  us  the  more  to  their  results.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  sets  us  on  our  guard  against  them.  And,  meantime, 
it  diminishes  one  of  the  saddest,  most  injurious,  and  most 
preposterous  notions  of  human  ignorance — the  belief  in  the 
wickedness  of  our  kind. 

But  I  have  said  enough  of  these  ba,rbarous  customs,  and 
must  take  care  that  my  reflections  do  not  carry  me  too  far 
from  my  reminiscences 

I  forget  whether  it  was  Dr.  Trinder — for  some  purpose 
of  care  and  caution — but  somebody  told  my  mother  (and  she 
believed  it,  that  if  I  survived  to  the  age  of  fifteen  I  ipight 


A  DEEP  MATERNAL  ANXIETY.  43 

turn  out  to  possess  a  more  than  average  amount  of  intellect ; 
but  that  otherwise  I  stood  a  chance  of  dying  an  idiot.  The 
reader  may  imagine  the  anxiety  which  this  information  would 
give  to  a  tender  mother.  Not  a  syllable,  of  course,  did  she 
breathe  to  me  on  the  subject  till  the  danger  was  long  past, 
and  doubly  did  I  then  become  sensible  of  all  the  marks  of 
affection  which  I  called  to  mind ;  of  the  unusual  things 
which  she  had  done  for  me ;  of  the  neglect,  alas  I  which  they 
had  too  often  experienced  from  me,  though  not  to  her  knowl- 
edge ;  and  of  the  mixture  of  tenderness  and  anxiety  which  1 
had  always  noted  in  her  face.  I  was  the  youngest  and  least 
robust  of  her  sons,  and  during  early  childhood  I  used  hardly 
to  recover  from  one  illness  before  I  was  seized  with  another. 
The  doctor  said  I  must  have  gone  through  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  suffering.  I  have  sometimes  been  led  to  consider 
this  as  the  first  layer  of  that  accumulated  patience  with  which 
in  after  life  I  had  occasion  to  fortify  myself ;  and  the  supposi- 
tion has  given  rise  to  many  consolatory  reflections  on  the 
subject  of  endurance  in  general. 

To  assist  my  recovery  from  one  of  these  illnesses,  I  was 
taken  to  the  coast  of  France,  where,  as  usual,  I  fell  into 
another  ;  and  one  of  my  earliest  recollections  is  of  a  good- 
natured  French  woman,  the  mistress  of  the  lodging-house  at 
Calais,  who  cried  over  the  "poore  littel  boy,"  because  I  was 
a  heretic.  She  thought  I  should  go  to  the  devil.  Poor 
soul  I  What  torments  must  the  good-hearted  woman  have 
undergone ;  and  what  pleasant  pastime  it  is  for  certain  of 
her  loud  and  learned  inferiors  to  preach  such  doctrines,  care- 
less of  the  injuries  they  inflict,  or  even  hoping  to  inflict  them 
for  the  sake  of  some  fine  deity-degrading  lesson,  of  which  their 
sordid  imaginations  and  splenetic  itch  of  dictation  assume 
the  necessity.  It  was  lucky  for  me  that  our  hostess  was  a 
gentle,  not  a  violent  bigot,  and  susceptible  at  her  heart  of 
those  better  notions  of  God  which  are  instinctive  in  the  best 
natures.  She  might  otherwise  have  treated  rae,  as  a  late 
traveler  says,  infants  have  been  treated  by  Catholic  nurses, 
and  murdered  in  order  to  save  me.* 

*  Letters  from  the  By-ways  of  Italy  :  By  Mrs.  Hexry  St'.sted. 
As  tho  passage  is  very  curious,  and  the  book,  though  otherwise  intc- 


44  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUiNT. 

In  rcturninrr  from  the  coast  of  France,  wc  stopped  at  Deal, 
and  I  found  myself,  one  evening,  standing  with  an  elder 
brother  on  the  beach,  looking  at  a  shoal  of  porpoises,  creatures 
of  which  he  had  given  me  some  tremendous,  mysterious  notion. 
I  remember,  as  if  it  was  yesterday,  feeling  the  shades  of 

resting,  not  likely  to  be  found  on  the  highways  of  the  reading  public, 
it  shall  be  here  repeated. 

"  Among  the  followers  of  the  house  of  Stuart,"  says  the  authoress, 
"  there  was  a  faithful  follower  of  the  name  of  Hadfield.  The  fallen 
line,  having  no  better  return  to  make  him  for  years  of  service,  estab- 
lished him  in  an  hotel  on  the  Arno,  at  Florence,  now  the  Quatrc-Na- 
tions  ;  to  which  the  partisans  of  the  royal  exiles,  in  consequence,  re- 
sorted. jNIr.  Hadfield  had  recently  married :  the  birth  of  a  son  soon 
completed  his  domestic  happiness.  There  could  not  be  a  finer,  health- 
ier boy.  After  a  few  months,  the  child  fell  asleep  one  day  and  awoke 
110  more — his  death  was  in  no  way  to  be  accounted  for!  The  grief 
and  disappointment  of  his  parents  only  gave  way  to  the  birth  of  an- 
other infant  the  following  year ;  it  was  also  a  boy,  blooming,  and  full 
of  life.  He  also  slept  the  sleep  of  death,  to  awake  no  more  !  A  third 
was  born,  and  the  same  mysterious  fate  awaited  him :  the  horror  of  the 
heart-stricken  parents  can  only  be  imagined — 

'"The  shaft  flew  thrice,  and  thrice  their  peace  was  slain.' 

"  The  following  year,  the  olive  branch  was  again  held  forth  in 
mercy.  A  fourth  child  was  vouchsafed — it  was  a  girl.  The  parents 
watched  and  prayed,  but  trembled  !  Only  a  few  weeks  had  passed 
over,  when  the  nurse,  to  whom  the  infant  had  been  intrusted,  ran  to 
them  one  day,  her  countenance  full  of  horror,  her  lips  livid  ;  she  could 
not  articulate,  but  held  out  the  babe  to  its  mother.  After  some  re- 
storatives had  been  given,  the  poor  creature  recovered  sufficiently  to 
tell,  that,  having  left  the  nursery  for  a  moment,  while  the  child  slept, 
and  without  her  shoes  for  fear  of  awaking  her,  she  was  amazed,  on  her 
return  with  noiseless  step,  to  find  old  Erigida,  the  laundress  of  the 
hotel,  leaning  over  the  cradle  with  a  vial  in  her  hand.  The  crone, 
unconscious  of  her  presence,  was  talking  to  herself.  The  nurse  could 
distinctly  hear  her  words  to  this  effect :  '  I  must  snatch  another  heretic 
from  hell !  Drink  my  child,  and  join  your  brothers  :  they  are  angels 
in  paradise.  The  Blessed  Virgin  waits  for  you.'  The  wretch  was  in 
the  act  of  applying  the  vial  to  the  infant's  lips,  when  the  nurse  darted 
forward,  snatched  up  the  child,  and  fled  !  Old  Brigida  fled,  too — but 
it  was  to  a  convent,  a  sanctuary  !  where  her  guilt  was  deemed  meri- 
torious and  her  redemption  secure.  She  died  soon  after,  in  the  odor 
of  sanctity.   « 

'The  child  was  saved,"  concludes  Mrs.  Stisted ;  "but  the  af- 
frighted parents,  obliged  to  live  abroad,  baptized  her  according  to  the 
rites  of  the  Roman  church.     Their  daughter  proved  of  prococious 


PORPOISES  IN  AN  EVENING  SEA  45 

evening,  and  the  solemnity  of  the  spectacle,  with  an  awful 
intensity.  There  they  were  tumbling-  along  in  the  foam 
what  exactly  I  knew  not,  but  fearful  creatures  of  some  sort. 
My  brother  spoke  to  me  of  Ihem  in  an  under  tone  of  voice, 
and  I  held  my  breath  as  I  looked.  The  very  word  "  por- 
poise," had  an  awful  mouth-filling  sound. 

Perhaps  they  were  dolphins.  The  dolphin  is  found  on  the 
English  coast,  and,  indeed,  the  porpoise  is  a  species  of  dolphin. 
Certainly,  no  Greek  could  have  held  him  in  more  respect 
than  I  did  at  that  moment.  I  did  not  know  that  his  name, 
porpoise,  meant  hog-fish ;  and  as  little  was  I  aware  that  he 
was  no  fish  at  all,  but  an  animal  of  the  "cetaceous"  order, 
boned  and  warm-blooded  like  myself,  and  forced  to  breathe 
air.  This  might  have  added  to  my  notions  of  him,  had  my 
brother  possessed  the  information,  and  they  would  have  been 
aggravated,  had  I  learned  that  he  went  by  the  name  of 
Goblin  (Nisack)  among  the  Zetlanders.  "  Certainly,"  says 
the  gentleman  who  informs  us  of  this  circumstance,  "a  por- 
poise in  the  act  of  tumbling  in  the  sea  is  no  bad  personifica- 
tion of  a  goblin."*  But  that  was  pretty  much  my  feeling 
about  him,  as  it  was.  I  looked  on  him  as  something  between 
fish  and  ogre  ;  and  I  never  thought  of  the  sea  long  after- 
ward, without  picturing  him  and  his  fellows  in  my  imagina- 
tion going  monstrously  along. 

In  subsequent  years,  poetry  and  mythology  taught  me  to 

mind.  Her  talents  and  beauty  rendered  her  well  known  in  after  years 
in  England :  she  was  the  celebrated  Maria  Cosway." — p.  479. 

This  story  is  related  on  the  authority  of  a  sister  of  JNIrs.  Coswa}', 
with  whom  Mrs.  Stisted  was  intimate ;  and  she  adds,  that  it  is  still 
remembered  in  Italy,  but  alluded  to  with  horror. 

The  fair  author,  however,  who  is  herself  zealous  for  the  making  of 
proselytes  and  the  salvation  of  souls,  docs  not  see  that  she  is  playing 
with  a  tremendous  two-cd<Tcd  weapon  in  callinn;  old  Brigida  a  wretch, 
and  that  the  first  germ  of  the  horror  lay  in  those  opinions,  common  to 
both,  which  associate  thB  Divine  Being  himself  with  horrors  infinitely 
more  shocking. 

It  is  not  Mrs.  Stistcd's  creed  that  will  have  saved  the  world  from 
the  continuance  of  such  melancholy  absurdities,  but  those  better  opin- 
ions of  God  and  man  which  the  progress  of  knowledge  and  loving- 
kindness  is  gradually  introducing  into  all  creeds. 

*  Bell's  Drithh  Quadrupeds  and  Cctacea.  p.  475. 


46  LIFE  OF  I-EIGH  HUNT. 

love  the  porpoise.  Who  does  not  learn  to  love  every  thing 
in  the  all-embracing  sweetness  ol"  poetry  ?  The  porpoise  was 
the  cousin  of  Arion's  dolphin,  if  not  the  musician's  actual 
bearer.  I  therefore  discovered  that  he  was  a  very  pleasant, 
gamboling  fellow,  full  of  sociality,  and  classical  withal ;  a 
reputation  old  as  the  seas,  yet  fresh  as  the  gale  of  yester- 
day. And  he,  or  his  kind,  were  the  horses  of  the  sea- 
nymphs. 

A  team  of  ilolpliins,  ranged  in  array. 

Drew  the  smooth  chariot  of  sad  Cymoent : 
They  were  all  taught  by  Triton  to  obey 

To  the  long  reins  at  her  eonimandemcnt : 

As  swift  as  swallows  on  the  waves  they  wont, 
That  their  broad,  flaggy  fins  no  foam  did  rear, 

Nor  bubbling  roundel  they  behind  them  sent : 
The  rest,  of  other  fishes,  drawen  were, 
Which  with  their  fmny  oars  the  swelling  sea  did  shear. 

Soon  as  they  been  arriv'd  upon  the  brim 

Of  the  Rich  Strand,  their  chariots  they  forlore, 

(These  ladies  of  the  sea  were  on  a  visit) 

And  let  their  teamed  fishes  softly  swim 

Along  the  margent  of  the  foamy  shore; 

Lest  ihcy  their  fins  should  bruise,  and  surbcat  sore 
Their  tender  feet  upon  the  stony  ground. 

Faerie  Qttccne,  Book  III.  Canto  iv 

Who  Avould  not  think  that  Spenser  had  kept  a  dolphin- 
chariot  and  pair  ?  Cymoent  is  a  sea-nymph,  coming,  with 
her  sisters  of  the  ocean,  to  visit  her  son  JMarinell,  Lord  of 
the  Precious  Shore. 

It  is  thus  that  dreams  of  goblins  vanish  in  the  light  of 
knowledge  and  beauty. 

This  brother  of  mine,  avIio  is  now  no  more,  and  who 
might  have  been  a  Marincll  himself,  for  his  notions  of  wealth 
and  grandeur  (to  say  nothing  of  his  marrj'ing,  in  succession, 
two  ladies  with  dowries,  from  islands,  whom  ancient  imagin- 
ation could  easily  have  exalted  into  sea-nymphs),  was  thou 
a  fine,  tall  lad  of  intrepid  spirit,  a  little  too  much  given  to 
playing  tricks  on  those  who  had  less.  My  other  brothers 
were  all  as  bold  as  himself;   but  he  had  discovered  that  the 


A  DESPOTIC  BROTHER.  47 

latest  born  was  more  "  nervous,"  and  that  a  new  field  lay 
open  for  his  amusement  in  the  little  one's  imagination.  He 
was  a  dozen  years  older  than  I  was,  and  as  he  had  a  good 
deal  of  the  despot  in  a  nature  otherwise  generous,  and  had 
succeeded  even  in  lording  it  over  such  of  his  brothers  as  chose 
to  let  him  (for  disputes  frightened  my  mother),  his  ascendency 
threatened  to  enslave  their  junior  altogether.  I  had  acquired 
however,  an  art  of  evading  his  tyranny,  by  the  help  of  mv 
very  childhood,  which  enabled  me  to  keep  out  of  his  way  ; 
and  in  addition  to  this  resource,  I  had  a  certain  resentment 
of  my  own  weakness,  which  came  in  aid  of  the  family  spirit. 

To  give  an  instance  of  the  lengths  to  which  my  brother  S. 
carried  his  claims  of  ascendency,  he  used  to  astonish  the 
boys,  at  a  day-school  to  which  he  went  in  Finchley,  by  ap- 
pearing among  them  with  clean  shoes,  when  the  bad  state  of 
the  lanes  rendered  the  phenomenon  unaccountable.  Reserve 
on  one  side,  and  shame  on  another,  kept  the  mystery  a  secret 
for  some  time.  At  length  it  turned  out,  that  he  was  in  the 
habit,  on  muddy  days,  of  making  one  of  his  brothers  carry 
him  to  school  on  his  shoulders. 

This  brother  (Robert),  who  is  still  living  to  laugh  at  the 
recollection,  and  who,  as  I  have  intimated,  was  quite  as 
brave  as  himself,  was  at  a  disadvantage  on  such  occasions, 
from  his  very  bravery  ;  since  he  knew  what  a  horror  my 
mother  would  have  felt,  had- there  been  any  collision  between 
them ;  so  he  used  to  content  himself  with  an  oratorical  pro- 
test, and  acquiesce.  Being  a  brave,  or  at  all  events  irritable 
little  fellow  enough  myself,  till  illness,  imagination,  and  an 
ultra  tender  and  anxious  rearing,  conspired  to  render  me 
fearful  and  patient,  I  had  no  such  consequences  to  think  of 
When  S.  took  me  bodily  in  hand,  I  was  only  exasperated. 
I  remember  the  furious  struggles  I  used  to  make,  and  my 
endeavors  to  get  at  his  shins,  when  he  would  hold  mo  at 
arm's  length,  "aggravating"  me  (as  the  phrase  is)  by  taunt- 
ing speeches,  and  laughing  like  a  goblin. 

But  on  the  "  night-side  of  human  nature,"  as  Mrs.  Crowe 
calls  it,  he  "  had  me."  I  might  confront  him  and  endeavor 
to  kick  his  shins  by  day-light,  but  with  respect  to  ghosts,  as 
the  sailor  said,  I  did  not  "  understand  their  tackle."      I  had 


43  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

unfortunately  let  him  see  that  I  diJ  not  like  to  be  in  the  dark, 
and  that  I  had  a  horror  of  dreadful  faces  ;  even  in  books.  I 
had  ibund  something  particularly  ghastly  in  the  figure  of  an 
old  man  crawling  on  the  ground,  in  some  frontispiece — I 
think  to  a  book  called  the  Looking-  Glass ;  and  there  was 
a  fabulous  wild-beast,  a  portrait  of  which,  in  some  picture- 
book,  unspeakably  shocked  me.  It  was  called  the  Manti- 
chora.  It  had  the  head  of  a  man,  grinning  with  rows  of 
teeth,  and  the  body  of  a  wild-beast,  brandishing  a  tail  armed 
with  stings.  It  was  sometimes  called  by  the  ancients  Mar- 
tichora.  But  I  did  not  know  that.  I  took  the  word  to  be 
a  horrible  compound  of  inan  and  tiger.  The  beast  figures 
in  Pliny  and  the  old  travelers.  Apollonius  had  heard  of  him. 
He  takes  a  learful  joy  in  describing  him,  even  from  report  : 

'•  Apollonius  asked  "  if  they  had  among  them  the  Marti- 
chora."  "What!"  said  larchas,  '-have  you  heard  of  that 
animal ;  for  if  you  have,  you  have  probably  heard  something 
extraordinary  of  its  figure."  "  Great  and  wonderful  things 
have  I  heard  of  it,"  replied  Apollonius.  "It  is  of  the  num- 
ber of  quadrupeds,  has  a  head  like  a  man's,  is  as  large  as  a 
lion,  with  a  tail  from  which  bristles  grow,  of  the  length  of 
a  cubit,  all  as  sharp  as  prickles,  which  it  shoots  forth  like 
so  many  arrows  against  its  pursuers."* 

That  sentence,  beginning  "  Great  and  wonderful  things," 
proves  to  me,  that  Apollonius  must  once  have  been  a  little 
boy,  looking  at  picture-books.  The  possibility  of  such  '•  creat- 
ures" being  "  pursued"  never  occurred  to  me.  Alexander,  I 
thought,  might  have  been  encountered  while  crossing  the 
Graiiicus,  and  elephants  might  be  driven  into  the  sea  ;  but 
how  could  any  one  face  a  beast  with  a  man's  head  ?  One 
look  of  its  horrid  countenance  (which  it  always  carried  front- 
ing you,  as  it  went  by — I  never  imagined  it  seen  in  jDrofile) 
would  have  been  enough,  I  concluded,  to  scare  an  army. 
Even  full-grown  dictionary-makers  had  been  frightened  out 
of  their  propriety  at  the  thought  of  him.  "  Mantichora," 
eays  old  Morell — "  bestia  horrenda"' — (a  brute  fit  to  give 
one  the  horrors). 

In  vain  my  brother  played  me  repeated  tricks  with  this 
*  Berwick's  Translation,  p.  176. 


THE  MANTICHORA.  49 

frightful  anomaly.  I  was  always  ready  to  be  frightened 
again.  At  one  time  he  would  grin  like  the  Mantichora  ; 
then  he  would  roar  like  him  ;  then  call  about  him  in  the 
dark.  I  remember  his  asking  me  to  come  up  to  him  one 
night  at  the  top  of  the  house.  I  ascended,  and  found  the 
door  shut.  Suddenly  a  voice  came  through  the  key-hole, 
saying,  in  its  hollo  west  tones,  "  The  Mantichora's  coming." 
Down  I  rushed  to  the  parlor,  fancying  the  terror  at  my  heels. 

I  dwell  the  rnore  on  this  seemingly  petty  circumstance, 
because  such  things  are  no  petty  ones  to  a  sensitive  child. 
My  brother  had  no  idea  of  the  mischief  they  did  me.  Per- 
haps the  mention  of  them  will  save  mischief  to  others.  They 
helped  to  morbidize  all  that  was  weak  in  my  temperament, 
and  cost  me  many  a  bitter  night. 

Another  time  I  was  reading  to  him,  while  he  was  recov- 
ering in  bed  from  an  accident.  He  was  reckless  in  his  play ; 
had  once  broken  his  leg  on  Hampstead  Heath  ;  and  was  now 
getting  well  from  a  broken  collar  bone.  He  gave  me  a  vol- 
ume, either  of  "  Elegant  Extracts,"  or  "  Aikin's  Miscellanies," 
to  read  (I  think  the  former),  and  selected  the  story  of  Sir 
Bertrand.  He  did  not  betray  by  his  face  what  was  coming. 
I  was  enchanted  with  the  commencement  about  the  "dreary 
moors"  and  the  "  curfew  ;"'  and  T  was  reading  on  with  breath- 
less interest,  when,  at  one  of  the  most  striking  passages — 
probably  some  analogous  one  about  a  noise — he  contrived, 
with  some  instrument  or  other,  to  give  a  tremendous  knock 
on  the  wall.  Up  I  jumped,  aghast ;  and  tlie  invalid  lay 
rolling  with  laughter. 

It  was  lucky  \'ox  me  that  I  inherited  a  check  to  this 
sensibility,  in  the  animal  spirits  of  my  father  :  and  unceasing, 
above  all,  has  been  my  gratitude,  both  to  father  and  mother, 
for  the  cheerful  opinions  which  they  took  care  to  give  me  in 
religion.  What  the  reverse  might  have  done  for  me,  I 
shudder  to  think.  I  hope  good  sense  would  have  jiredomin- 
ated,  and  moral  courage  enough  been  left  me  to  go  to  a 
physician  and  cultivate  my  bodily  strength ;  but  among  the 
strange  compliments  which  superstition  pays  to  the  Creator, 
is  a  scorn  and  contempt  for  the  fleshly  investiture  which  ho 
has  bestowed  on  us,  at  least  among  Christians ;  for  tho 
vor.    T  — r 


50  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Pagans  were  far  more  pious  in  this  respect ;  and  Moliammed 
agreed  with  them  in  doing  justice  to  the  beauty  and  dignity 
of  the  human  frame.  It  is  quite  edifying,  in  the  Arabian 
nights,  to  read  the  thanks  that  arc  so  often  and  so  raptur- 
ously given  to  the  Supreme  Being  for  his  bestowal  of  such 
charms  on  his  creatures.  Nor  was  a  greater  than  Moham- 
med of  a  nature  to  undervalue  the  earthly  temples  of  gentle 
and  loving  spirits.  Ascetic  mistakes  have  ever  originated  in 
want  of  heartiness  or  of  heart ;  in  consciousness  of  defect,  or 
vulgarity  of  nature,  or  in  spiritual  pride.  A  well-balanced 
body  and  soul  never,  we  may  be  sure,  gave  way  to  it.  What 
an  extraordinary  flattery  of  the  Deity  to  say,  "  Lord  I  I  thanlc 
thee  for  this  jewel  of  a  soul  which  I  possess  ;  but  what  a 
miserable  casket  thou  hast  given  me  to  put  it  in  I" 

So  healthily  had  I  the  good  fortune  to  be  brought  up  in 
point  of  religion,  that  (to  anticipate  a  remark  which  might 
have  come  in  at  a  less  ellective  place),  I  remember  kneeling 
one  day  at  the  school-church  during  the  Litany,  when  the 
thought  fell  upon  me,  "  Suppose  eternal  punishment  should 
be  true."  An  unusual  sense  of  darkness  and  anxiety  crossed 
me — but  only  for  a  moment.  The  next  instant  the  extreme 
absurdity  and  impiety  of  the  notion  restored  me  to  my  ordi- 
nary feelings  ;  and  from  that  moment  to  this — respect  the 
mystery  of  the  past  as  I  do,  and  attribute  to  it  what  final 
good  out  of  fugitive  evil  I  may — I  have  never  for  one  instant 
doubted  the  transitoriness  of  the  doctrine,  and  the  unexclusivc 
goodness  of  futurity.  All  those  question-begging  argumenta- 
tions of  the  churches  and  schools,  which  are  employed  to  rec- 
oncile the  inflictions  of  the  nursery  to  the  gift  of  reason,  and 
which  would  do  quite  as  well  for  the  absurdities  of  any  one 
creed  as  another  (indeed  they  would  be  found  to  have  done 
so,  were  we  as  deeply  read  in  the  religions  of  East  as  of 
West),  come  to  nothing  before  the  very  modesty  to  which 
they  appeal,  provided  it  is  a  modesty  healthy  and  loving. 
The  more  even  of  fugitive  evil  which  it  sees  (and  no  ascer- 
tained evil  suflercd  by  any  individual  creature  is  otherwise), 
nay,  the  more  which  is  disclosed  to  it  in  the  very  depths  and 
concealments  of  nature,  only  the  more  convinces  it  that  the 
great  mystery  of  all  things  will  allow  of  no  listing  evil,  visi- 


OVER-SENSITIVE  BREEDING.  51 

ble  or  invisible  ;  and  therefore  it  concludes  t\iat  the  evil 
which  does  exist  is  for  some  good  piu'pose,  and  for  the  final 
blessing  of  all  sentient  beings,  of  vi^hom  it  takes  a  care  so 
remarkable. 

I  know  not  whether  it  was  ibrtmiatc  or  unfortunate  for 
me,  humanly  speaking,  that  my  mother  did  not  see  as  far 
into  healthiness  of  training  in  other  respects  as  in  this. 
Some  of  the  bad  consequences  to  myself  were  indeed  obvious, 
as  the  reader  has  seen  ;  but  it  may  have  enabled  me  to  save 
worse  to  others.  If  I  could  find  any  fault  with  her  memory 
(speaking  after  an  ordinary  fashion),  it  would  be  that  I  was 
loo  delicately  bred,  except  as  to  what  is  called  good  living. 
My  parents  were  too  poor  for  luxury.  But  she  set  me  an 
example  of  such  excessive  care  and  anxiety  for  those  about 
us,  that  I  remember  I  could  not  see  her  bite  off  the  ends  of 
her  thread  while  at  work  without  being  in  pain  till  I  was 
sure  she  would  not  swallow  them.  She  used  to  be  so 
agitated  at  the  sight  of  discord  and  quarreling,  particularly 
when  it  came  to  blows,  and  between  the  rudest  or  gayest 
combatants  in  the  street,  that  although  it  did  not  deprive 
her  of  courage  and  activity  enough  to  interfere  (which  she 
would  do  if  there  was  the  slightest  chance  of  effect,  and 
which  produced  in  myself  a  corresponding  discrimination 
between  sensibility  and  endeavor),  it  gave  me  an  ultra- 
sympathy  with  the  least  show  of  pain  and  suffering  ;  and 
she  had  produced  in  me  such  a  horror,  or  rather  such  an 
intense  idea  of  even  violent  words,  and  of  the  commonest 
trivial  oath,  that  being  led  one  day,  perhaps  by  the  very 
excess  of  it,  to  snatch  a  "fearful  joy"  in  its  utterance,  it 
gave  me  so  much  remorse  that  for  some  time  afterward  I 
could  not  receive  a  bit  of  praise,  or  a  pat  of  encouragement 
on  the  head,  without  thinking  to  myself,  "Ah,  they  little 
suspect  that  I  am  the  boy  who  said,  'd — n  it.'" 

Dear  mother  !  No  one  could  surpass  her  in  generosity  : 
none  be  more  willing  to  share,  or  to  take  the  greatest  portion 
of  blame  to  themselves,  of  any  evil  consequences  of  mistake 
to  a  son  ;  but  if  I  have  not  swallowed  very  many  camels  in 
the  course  of  my  life,  it  has  not  been  owing  perhaps  to  this  too 
great  a  straining  at  gtiats.      IIow  happy  shall  I  be  (if  I  may) 


52  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

to  laugh  and  compare  notes  with  her  on  the  subject  in  any 
humble  corner  of  heaven ;  to  recall  to  her  the  filial  tender- 
ness with  which  she  was  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  mistakes 
of  one  of  lier  own  parents,  and  to  think  that  her  grand- 
children will  be  as  kind  to  the  memory  cf  their  father. 

I  may  here  mention,  as  a  ludicrous  counterpart  to  this 
story,  and  a  sample  of  the  fantastical  nature  of  scandal,  that 
somebody  having  volunteered  a  defense  of  my  character  on 
some  occasion  to  a  distinguished  living  poet,  as  though  the 
character  had  been  questioned  by  him — the  latter  said  he 
had  never  heard  any  thing  against  it,  except  that  I  was 
"given  to  swearing." 

I  certainly  think  little  of  the  habit  of  swearing,  however 
idle,  if  it  be  carried  no  further  than  is  done  by  many  gallant 
and  very  good  men,  wise  and  great  ones  not  excepted.  I 
wish  I  had  no  worse  faults  to  answer  for.  But  the  fact  is, 
that  however  I  may  laugh  at  the  puerile  con-science  of  the 
anecdote  just  mentioned,  an  oath  has  iiot  escaped  my  lips 
from  that  day  to  this. 

I  hope  no  "  good  fellow"  will  think  ill  of  me  for  it.  If 
he  did,  I  should  certainly  be  tempted  to  begin  swearing  im- 
mediately, purely  to  vindicate  my  character.  But  there  was 
no  swearing  in  our  family ;  there  was  none  in  our  school 
(Christ-Hospital) ;  and  I  seldom  ever  fell  in  the  way  of  it 
any  where  except  in  books  ;  so  that  the  practice  was  not 
put  into  my  head.  I  look  upon  Tom  Jones,  who  swore,  as 
an  angel  of  light  compared  with  Blifil,  who,  I  am  afraid, 
swore  no  more  than  myself.  Steele,  I  suspect,  occasionally 
rapped  out  an  oath  ;  which  is  not  to  be  supposed  of  Addi- 
son. And  this,  again,  might  tempt  me  into  a  grudge  against 
my  nonjuring  turn  of  colloquy  ;  for  I  must  own  that  I  pre- 
fer open-hearted  Steele  with  all  his  faults,  to  Addison  with 
all  his  essays.  But  habit  is  habit,  negative  as  well  as  posi- 
tive.     Let  him  that  is  without  one,  cast  the  first  sarcasm. 

After  all,  swearing  was  once  seriously  objected  to  me,  and 
I  had  given  cause  for  it.  I  must  own,  that  I  even  begged 
hard  to  be  allowed  a  few  oaths.  It  was  for  an  article  in  a 
magazine,  where  I  had  to  describe  a  fictitious  person,  whose 
character  I   thought  required  it;    and  I  plead'id  truth  to 


MATERNAL  HORROR  OF  WAR.  53 

nature,  and  the  practice  of  the  good  old  novelists  ;  but  in 
vain.  The  editor  was  not  to  be  entreated.  He  was  Mr. 
Theodore  Hook. 

Perhaps  this  was  what  gave  rise  to  the  poet's  impression. 

But  to  return  to  my  reminiscences.  It  may  appear  sur- 
prising to  some,  that  a  child  brought  up  in  such  scruples  of 
conscience,  and  particularly  in  such  objections  to  pugnacity, 
should  have  ever  found  himself  in  possession  of  such  toys  as 
a  drum  and  a  sword.  A  distinguished  economist,  who  was 
pleased  the  other  day  to  call  me  the  "  spoiled  child  of  the 
public"  (a  title  which  I  should  be  proud  to  possess),  expressed 
his  astonishment,  that  a  person  so  "  gentle"  should  have 
been  a  fighter  in  the  thick  of  politics.  But  the  "  gentle- 
ness" was  the  reason.  I  mean,  that  under  certain  circum- 
stances of  training,  the  very  love  of  peace  and  comfort,  in 
begetting  a  desire  to  see  those  benefits  partaken  by  others, 
begets  a  corresponding  indignation  at  seeing  them  with- 
held. 

I  am  aware  of  the  perils  of  reaction  to  which  this  feeling 
tends  ;  of  the  indulgence  in  bad  passions  which  it  may  dis- 
guise ;  of  the  desirableness  of  quietly  advocating  whatever  is 
quietly  to  be  secured  ;  of  the  perplexity  occasioned  to  all 
these  considerations  by  the  example  which  appears  to  be  set 
by  nature  herself  in  her  employment  of  storm  and  tempest ; 
and  of  the  answer  to  be  given  to  that  perplexity  by  the 
modesty  of  human  ignorance  and  its  want  of  certainty  of 
foresight.  Nevertheless,  till  this  question  be  settled  (and  the 
sooner  the  justice  of  the  world  can  settle  it  the  better),  it 
renders  the  best  natures  liable  to  inconsistencies  between 
theory  and  practice,  and  forces  them  into  self-reconcilements 
of  conscience,  neither  quite  so  easy  in  the  result,  nor  so 
deducible  from  perfect  reason  as  they  would  suppose.  My 
mother,  whose  fortunes  had  been  blighted,  and  feelings  ago- 
nized, by  the  revolution  in  America,  and  who  had  conceived 
such  a  horror  of  war,  that  when  we  resided  once  near  the 
Park,  she  would  take  a  long  circuit  (as  I  have  before  men- 
tioned), rather  than  go  through  it,  in  order  to  avoid  seeing  ' 
the  soldiers,  permitted  me,  nevertheless,  to  have  the  drum 
nd  the  sword.      Why  ?      Because  if  the  sad  necessity  were 


54  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

to  come,  it  would  be  hor  son's  duty  to  war  against  wai 
itself — to  fight  against  those  who  oppressed  the  anti-fighters. 

My  father,  entertaining  these  latter  opinions  without  any 
misgiving  (enforced,  too,  as  they  were  by  his  classical  educa- 
tion), and  both  my  parents  being  great  lovers  of  sermons, 
which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  to  us  of  an  evening,  I 
found  myself  at  one  time  cultivating  a  perplexed  ultra-con- 
scientiousness with  my  mother  ;  at  another,  laughing  and 
being  jovial  with  my  father  ;  and  at  a  third,  hearing  from 
both  of  them  stories  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  heroes,  some 
of  whom  she  admired  as  much  as  he  did.  The  consequence 
was,  that  I  one  day,  presented  to  the  astonished  e3'^es  of  the 
maid-servant  a  combination  that  would  have  startled  Dr. 
Trinder,  and  delighted  the  eyes  of  an  old  Puritan.  To  clap 
a  sword  by  my  side,  and  get  the  servant  to  pin  up  my  hat 
into  the  likeness  of  the  hat  military,  were  symptoms  of  an 
ambition  which  she  understood  and  applauded  ;  but  when  I 
proceeded  to  append  to  this  martial  attire  one  of  my  father's 
bands,  and,  combining  the  military  with  the  ecclesiastical 
authority,  got  upon  a  chair  to  preach  to  an  imaginary  audi- 
ence over  the  back  of  it,  she  seemed  to  think  the  image  real- 
ized of  "  heaven  and  earth  coming  together."  However, 
she  ended  with  enjoying,  and  even  abetting,  this  new  avatar 
of  the  church  militant.  Had  I  been  a  Mohammed,  she  would 
have  been  my  first  proselyte,  and  I  should  have  called  her 
the  Maid-servant  of  the  Faithful.  She  Avas  a  good,  simple- 
hearted  creature,  Avho  from  not  having  been  fortunate  with 
the  first  orator  in  whom  she  believed,  had  stood  a  chance  of 
ruin  for  life,  till  received  into  the  only  family  that  would 
admit  her  ;   and  she  lived  and  died  in  its  service. 

The  desire  thus  childishly  exhibited,  of  impressing  some 
religious  doctrine,  never  afterward  quitted  me  ;  though,  in 
consequence  of  the  temperament  which  I  inherited  from  one 
parent,  and  the  opinions  which  I  derived  from  both,  it  took  a 
direction  singularly  cheerful.  For  a  man  is  but  his  parents, 
or  .some  other  of  his  ancestors,  drawn  out.  My  father,  though 
a  clergyman  of  the  Established  Church,  had  settled,  as  well 
as  my  mother,  into  a  Christian  of  the  Universalist  persuasion, 
which  believes  in  the  final  restoration  of  all  things.     It  was 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  ETERNAL  PUNISHMENT.  55 

hence  that  I  ] earned  the  impiety  (as  I  have  expressed  it)  of 
the  doctrine  of  eternal  punishment.  In  the  present  day,  a 
sense  of  that  impiety,  in  some  way  or  other,  whether  of  doubt 
or  sophistication,  is  the  secret  feehng  of  nine-tenths  of  all 
churches  :  and  every  church  will  discover,  before  long,  that 
it  must  rid  itself  of  the  doctrine,  if  it  would  not  cease  to 
exist.  Love  is  the  only  creed  destined  to  survive  all  others. 
They  who  think  that  no  church  can  exist  without  a  strong- 
spice  of  terror,  should  watch  the  growth  of  education,  and 
see  which  system  of  it  is  the  most  beloved.  They  should 
see  also  which  system  in  the  very  nursery  is  growing  the 
most  ridiculous.  The  threat  of  the  "  black  man  and  the 
coal-hole "  has  vanished  from  all  decent  infant  training. 
What,  answer,  is  the  father,  who  would  uphold  the  worst 
form  of  it,  to  give  to  the  child  whom  he  has  spared  the 
best  ? 

How  pleasant  it  is,  in  reviewing  one's  life,  to  look  back  on 
the  circumstances  that  originated  or  encouraged  any  kindly 
tendency.  I  behold,  at  this  moment,  Mdth  lively  distinctness, 
the  handsome  face  of  Miss  C,  who  was  the  first  person  I 
remember  seeing  at  a  piano-forte  ;  and  I  have  something  of 
a  like  impression  of  that  of  Miss  M.,  mother,  if  I  mistake 
not,  or,  at  all  events,  near  relation,  of  my  distinguished  friend 
Sheridan  Knowles.  My  parents  and  his  were  acquainted. 
My  mother,  though  fond  of  music,  and  a  gentle  singer  in 
her  Avay,  had  missed  the  advantage  of  a  musical  education, 
partly  from  her  coming  of  a  half  quaker  stock,  partly  (as  I 
have  said  before)  from  her  having  been  too  diffident  to  avail 
herself  of  the  kindness  of  Dr.  Franklin,  who  o'flered  to  teach 
her  the  guitar. 

The  reigning  English  composer  at  that  time  was  "  Mr. 
Hook,"  as  he  was  styled  at  the  head  of  his  songs.  Pie  was 
the  father  of  my  punctilious  editor  of  the  magazine  ;  and  had 
a  real  though  small  vein  of  genius,  which  was  none  the 
better  for  its  being  called  upon  to  flow  profusely  for  Ranelagh 
and  Vaiixhall.  He  was  composer  of  the  Lass  of  Illchmond 
Hill  (an  allusion  to  a  penchant  of  George  III.),  and  of  anoth- 
er popular  song  more  lately  remembered,  '  Ticas  witltin  a 
mile  of  Edinborough  town.     The  songs  of  that  day  abound- 


5(i  LIFE  OF  Li;i(4Il  HUNT. 

ed  ill  Strephons  and  Delias,  and  the  music  iDartook  of  the 
gentle  inspiration.  The  association  of  early  ideas  with  that 
kind  of  commonplace,  has  given  me  more  than  a  toleration 
for  it.  I  find  something  even  touching  in  the  endeavors  of 
an  innocent  set  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  my  fathers  and 
mothers,  to  identify  themselves  with  shepherds  and  shepherd- 
esses, even  in  the  most  impossible  hats  and  crooks.  I  think 
of  the  many  heartfelt  smiles  that  must  have  welcomed  love- 
letters  and  verses  containing  that  sophisticate  imagery,  and 
of  the  no  less  genuine  tears  that  were  shed  over  the  documents 
when  faded  ;  and  criticism  is  swallowed  up  in  tho.se  human 
drops.  This  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  can  read  even  the 
most  faded  part  of  the  works  of  Shenstone,  and  why  T  can 
dip  again  and  again  into  such  correspondence  as  that  of  the 
Countesses  of  Hertford  and  Pomfret,  and  of  my  Lady 
Luxborough,  who  raises  monuments  in  her  garden  to  the 
united  merits  of  Mr.  Somerville  and  the  god  Pan.  The 
feeling  was  true,  though  the  expression  was  sophisticate  and 
a  fashion ;  and  they  who  can  not  see  the  feeling  for  the 
mode  do  the  very  thing  which  they  think  they  scorn  ;  that 
is,  sacrifice  the  greater  consideration  to  the  less. 

But  Hook  Avas  not  the  only,  far  less  the  most  fashionable 
composer.  There  was  (if  not  all  personally,  yet  popularly 
contemporaneous)  Mr.  Lampe,  and  Mr.  Oswald,  and  Dr. 
Boyce,  and  Linley,  and  Jackson,  and  Shield,  and  Storace, 
with  Paesiello,  Sacchini,  and  others  at  the  King's  Theatre, 
whose  delightful  airs  wandered  into  the  streets  out  of  the 
English  operas  that  borrowed  them,  and  became  confounded 
with  English  property.  I  have  often,  in  the  course  of  my 
life,  heard  Whither,  my  love  ?  and  Fo)-  tenderness  formed, 
boasted  of  as  specimens  of  English  melody.  For  many 
years  I  took  them  for  such  myself,  in  common  with  the  rest 
of  our  family,  with  whom  they  Avere  great  favorites.  The 
first,  Avhich  Stephen  Storace  adapted  to  some  words  in  the 
"  Haunted  Tower,"  is  the  air  oi La  RacheUna  m  Paesiello's 
opera,  "  La  Molinara."  The  second,  which  was  put  by 
Greneral  Burgoyne  to  a  song  in  his  comedy  of  the  "  Heiress," 
is  lo  sono  Lindoro,  in  the  same  enchanting  composer's 
''  Barbiere  di  Seviglia."     The  once  popular  English  songs 


ITALIAN  AIRS  SUPPOSED  TO  BE  ENGLISH.  .>^ 

and  duets,  &c.,  How  imperfect  is  expression ;  For  me,  my 
fair  a  tvreafJb  has  tcove  ;  Hcnrij  citlVd  the  floiv  ret' shlooni ; 
O,  thou  %cert  born  to  'please  me ;  Here's  a  health  to  all  good 
lasses ;  Youth's  the  season  made  for  joys ;  Gently  touch 
the  warhling  lyre ;  No,  'ticas  neither  shajye  or  feature  ; 
Pray,  Goody,  jd^ase  to  moderate ;  Hope  told  a  flattering 
tale,  and  a  hundred  others,  were  all  foreign  compositions, 
chiefly  Italian.  Every  burlesque  or  hufo  song,  of  any  pre- 
tension, was  pretty  sure  to  be  Italian. 

When  Edwin,  Fawcett,  and  others,  were  rattling  away  in 
the  happy  comic  songs  of  O'KeefTe,  with  his  triple  rhymes  and 
illustrative  jargon,  the  audience  little  suspected  that  they  were 
listening  to  some  of  the  finest  animal  spirits  of  the  south — ^to 
Piccini,  Paesiello,  and  Cimarosa.  Even  the  wild  Irishman 
thought  himself  bound  to  go  to  Naples,  before  he  could  get  a 
proper  dance  for  his  gayety.  The  only  genuine  English  com- 
positions worth  any  thing  at  that  time,  were  almost  confined 
to  Shield,  Dibdin,  and  Storace,  the  last  of  whom,  the  author 
of  Lullaby,  who  was  an  Italian  born  in  England,  formed  the 
golden  link  between  the  music  of  the  two  countries,  the  only 
one,  perhaps,  in  which  English  accentuation  and  Italiaii  flow 
were  ever  truly  amalgamated  ;  though  I  must  own  that  I 
am  heretic  enough  (if  present  fashion  is  orthodoxy)  to  believe, 
that  Arne  was  a  real  musical  genius,  of  a  very  pure,  albeit 
not  of  the  very  first  water.  He  has  set,  indeed,  two  songs 
of  Shakspeare's  (the  Cticlcoo  song,  and  Where  the  bee 
sucks)  in  t  spirit  of  perfect  analogy  to  the  words,  as  well 
as  of  the  liveliest  musical  invention ;  and  his  air  of  Water 
parted,  in  "  Artaxerxes,"  winds  about  the  feelings  with  an 
earnest  and  graceful  tenderness  of  regret,  worthy  in  the 
highest  degree  of  the  afl'ecting  beauty  of  the  sentiment. 

All  the  favorite  poetry  of  the  day,  however,  was  of  one 
cast.  I  have  now  before  me  a  "  Select  Collection  of  En- 
glish Songs,"  by-  Ritson,  published  in  the  year  1783,  in  three 
volumes  octavo,  the  last  of  which  contains  the  musical  airs 
The  style  is  of  the  following  description  : 

Almeria's  face,  her  shape,  her  air, 

With  charms  resistless  wound  the  heart,  Sec.  p.  2. 

(I  should  not  wonder  if  dear  AlmeriaT.,  whose  tender  afiec- 


58  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

tion  for  my  mother  will  appear  in  another  chapter,  was  chris- 
tened out  of  this  song). 

Say,  Myra,  why  is  gentle  love,  &c. 
Which  racks  the  amo)-oiis  breast, 
by  Lord  Lyttelton,  the  most  admired  poet,  perhaps,  of  the 
age. 

When  Delia  on  the  j)lain  appears, 

also  by  his  lordship. 

Ill  vain,  Philander,  at  my  feet. 

Ah,  Damon,  dear  shepherd,  adieu. 

Come,  thou  rosy  dimpled  bo}-, 
Souree  of  every  heartfelt  joy. 
Leave  the  blissful  bowers  a  while, 
Paphos  and  the  Cyprian  isle. 

This  was  a  favorite  song  in  our  house.      So  was  Come, 
vjoio,  all  ye  social  poivcrs,  and 

Come  let  us  dance  and  sing. 

While  all  Barbados  bells  shall  ring ; 

probably  on  account  of  its  mention  of  my  father's  native 
place.  The  latter  song  is  not  in  E-itson.  It  was  the  fmale 
in  Colman's  "Inkle  and  Yarico,"  a  play  founded  on  a  Bar- 
badian story,  which  our  family  must  have  gone  with  delight 
to  see.  Another  favorite,  which  used  to  make  my  mother 
shed  tears,  on  account  of  my  sister  Eliza,  who  died  early, 
was  Jackson  of  Exeter's  song, 

Encompass'd  in  an  angel's  frame. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  touching  specimen  of  that  master.  The 
Hardy  tar,  also,  and  The  topsails  shiver  in  the  ivind,  used 
to  charm  yet  sadden  her,  on  account  of  my  eldest  brother 
then  living,  who  was  at  sea.  The  latter,  written  by  the 
good-natured  and  gallant  Captain  Thompson,  was  set  to 
music,  I  think,  by  Arne's  son,  Michael,  who  had  a  fine 
musical  sea-vein,  simple  and  strong.  He  was  the  composer 
of  Fresh  and  strong  the  breeze  is  Uoiciiig. 

The  other  day  I  found  two  songs  of  that  period  on  a 
music-stall,  one  by  Mr.  Hook,  entitled  Alone  by  the  light  of 
the  moon :   the  other,  a  song  with  a  French  burden,  called 


INFANT  SINGING.  59 

Dans  voire  lit ;  au  innocent  production,  notwithstanding  its 
title.  They  were  the  only  songs  I  recollect  singing  when  a 
child,  and  I  looked  on  them  with  the  accumulated  tender- 
ness of  sixty-three  years  of  age.  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
set  eyes  on  them  in  the  interval.  What  a  difference  be- 
tween the  little,  smooth-faced  boy  at  his  mother's  knee,  en- 
couraged to  lift  up  his  voice  to  the  pianoforte,  and  the  bat- 
tered grey-headed  senior,  looking  again,  for  the  first  time,  on 
what  he  had  sung  at  the  distance  of  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury. Life  often  seems  a  dream  ;  but  there  are  occasions 
when  the  sudden  re-appearance  of  early  objects,  by  the  in- 
tensity of  their  presence,  not  only  renders  the  interval  less 
present  to  the  consciousness  than  a  very  dream,  but  makes 
the  portion  of  life  which  preceded  it  seem  to  have  been  the 
most  real  of  all  things,  and  our  only  undreaming  time. 

Alone,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  Dans  votre  lit  !  how 
had  they  not  been  thumbed  and  thrown  aside  by  all  the 
piano-forte  young  ladies — our  mothers  and  grandmothers — 
fifty  years'  ago,  never  to  be  brought  forth  again,  except  by 
an  explorer  of  old  stalls,  and  to  meet,  perhaps,  with  no  sym- 
pathy but  in  his  single  imagination  I  Yet  there  I  stood  ; 
and  Wardour-street,  every  street,  all  London,  as  it  now  ex- 
ists, became  to  me  as  if  it  had  never  been.  The  universe 
itself  was  nothing  but  a  poor  sitting-room  in  the  year  '89  or 
'90,  with  my  mother  in  it  bidding  me  sing,  Miss  C.  at  the 
piano-forte,  harpsichord  more  likely,  and  my  little  sister,  Mary, 
with  her  round  cheeks  and  blue  eyes,  wishing  me  to  begin. 
What  a  great  singer  is  that  little  boy  to  those  loving  rela- 
tions, and  how  Miss  C,  with  all  her  good  nature,  must  be 
smiling  at  the  importance  of  little  boys  to  their  mothers  I 
Alone,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  was  the  "show-song,"  but 
Dans  votre  lit  was  the  favorite  with  my  sister,  because,  in 
her  ignorance  of  the  French  language,  she  had  associated  the 
name  of  her  brother  with  the  sound  of  the  last  word. 

The  song  was  a  somewhat  gallant,  but  very  decorous 
song,  apostrophizing  a  lady  as  a  lily  in  the  flower-bed.  It 
was  "  silly,  sooth,"  and  "  dallied  with  the  innocence  of  love" 
in  those  days,  after  a  fashion  which  might  have  excited  live' 
lier  ideas  in  the  more  restricted  imaginations  of  the  present. 


60  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

The  reader  has  seen,  that  ray  mother,  notwithstanding  her 
charitableness  to  the  poor  maid-servant,  was  a  woman  of  strict 
morals  ;  the  tone  of  the  family  conversation  was  scrupulous- 
ly correct,  though,  perhaps,  a  little  flowery  and  Thouison-liUe 
(Thomson  was  our  favorite  poet) ;  yet  the  songs  lliat  were 
sung  at  that  time  by  the  most  fastidious,  might  be  thought . 
a  shade  freer  than  would  suit  the  like  kind  of  society  at 
present.  Whether  we  are  more  innocent  iii  having  become 
more  ashamed,  I  shall  not  judge.  Assuredly,  the  singer  of 
those  songs  Avas  as  innocent,  as  the  mother  that  bade  him 
sing  them. 

My  little  sister,  Mary,  died  not  long  after.  She  was 
so  young,  that  my  only  recollection  of  her,  besides  her  blue 
eyes,  is  her  love  of  her  brother,  and  her  custom  of  leading 
me  by  the  hand  to  some  stool,  or  seat  on  the  staircase,  and 
making  me  sing  the  song  with  her  favorite  burden.  We 
were  the  two  youngest  children,  and  about  of  an  age. 

I  please  myself  with  picturing  to  my  imagination  what 
was  going  forward  during  my  childhood  in  the  world  of  poli- 
tics, literature,  and  pubUc  amusements  ;  how  far  they  inter- 
ested my  parents  ;  and  what  amount  of  impression  they  may 
have  left  on  my  own  mind.  The  American  Revolution, 
which  had  driven  my  father  from  Philadelphia,  was  not  long 
over,  and  the  French  Pwcvolution  was  approaching.  My 
father,  for  reasons  which  have  already  been  mentioned,  list- 
ened more  and  more  to  the  new  opinions,  and  my  mother 
listened,  not  only  from  love  to  her  husband,  but  because  she 
was  still  more  deeply  impressed  by  speculations  regarding  the 
welfare  of  human  kind.  The  public  mind,  after  a  long  and 
comparatively  insipid  tranquillity,  had  begun  to  be  stirred  by 
the  eloquence  of  Burke  ;  by  the  rivalries  of  Pitt  and  Fox  ; 
by  the  thanks  which  the  king  gave  to  Heaven  for  his  recovery 
from  his  first  illness  ;  by  the  warlike  and  licentious  energies 
of  the  Prussian  Empress,  Catherine  II.,  who  partly  shocked 
and  partly  amused  them  ;  and  by  the  gentler  gallantries  and 
showy  luxury  of  the  handsome  young  Prince  of  Wales,  after- 
ward George  IV. 

In  the  world  of  literature  and  art,  Goldsmith  and  Johnson 
had   gone  ;   Cowper  was  not  yet  much  known  ;  the  most 


LITERATURE  AND  ART.  61 

prominent  poets  <veve  Hayley  and  Darwin  ;  the  most  distin- 
guished prose-writer,  Gibbon.  Sir  Joshua  Pteynolds  was  in 
his  dechne,  so  was  Horace  Walpole.  The  Kembles  had  come 
up  in  the  place  of  Garrick.  There  were  excellent  comic  actors 
in  the  persons  of  Edwin,  Lewis,  young  Bannister,  &c.  They 
had  O'Keefe,  an  original  humorist,  to  write  for  them.  I  have 
already  noticed  the  vocal  portion  of  the  theatres.  Miss  Bur- 
ney,  afterward  Madam  d'Arblay,  surprised  the  reading  world 
with  her  entertaining,  but  somewhat  vulgar  novels  ;  and 
Mrs.  Inchbald,  Mrs.  Charlotte  Smith,  and  a  then  anony- 
mous author,  Robert  Bage  (who  wrote  "  Hermsprong,"  and 
"  Man  as  He  Is"),  delighted  liberal  politicians  with  theirs. 
Mrs.  Inchbald  was  also  a  successful  dramatist ;  but  her  novels, 
which  were  written  in  a  style  to  endure,  were  her  chief 
merits. 

My  mother  was  one  of  their  greatest  admirers.  I  have, 
heard  her  expatiate  with  delight  on  the  characters  in  "  Nature 
and  Art,"  which,  though  not  so  masterly  a  novel  as  the  "  Sim- 
ple Story,"  and  a  little  willful  in  the  treatment,  was  full  of 
matter  for  reflection,  especially  on  conventional,  and  what  are 
now  called  "  class"  points.  Dr.  Philpotts  would  have  accused 
her  of  disaffection  to  the  church  ;  and  she  would  not  have 
mended  the  matter  by  retreating  on  her  admiration  of  Bish- 
ops Hoadley  and  Shipley.  Her  regard  for  the  reverend 
author  of  "  Meditations  in  a  Flower  Gai"den"  would  have 
made  the  doctor  smile,  though  she  would  have  recovered, 
perhaps,  something  of  his  good  opinion  by  her  admiration  of 
Dr.  Young  and  his  "  Night  Thoughts."  But  Young  deluded 
her  with  his  groans  against  the  world,  and  his  lamentations 
for  his  daughter.  She  did  not  know  that  he  was  a  prefer- 
ment-hunter, who  was  prosperous  enough  to  indulge  in  the 
"luxury  of  woe,"  and  to  groan  because  his  toast  was  not 
thrice  buttered. 

Ranelagh  and  Vauxhall,  as  painted  in  Miss  Burney's 
novels,  were  among  the  fashionable  amusements  of  those 
days.  My  mother  was  neither  rich  nor  gay  enough  to  see 
much  of  them  ;  but  she  was  no  ascetic,  and  she  went  where 
others  did,  as  occasion  served.  My  father,  whose  manners 
were  at  once  high-bred  and  lively,  had  some  great  acquaint^ 


r,-2  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ances  ;  but  I  recollect  none  of  them  personally,  except  an  old 
lady  of  quality,  Avho  (if  memory  docs  not  strangely  deceive 
me,  and  give  me  a  personal  share  in  what  I  only  heard  talli- 
ed of;  for  old  autobiographcrs  of  childhood  must  own  them- 
selves liable  to  such  confusions)  astounded  me  one  day,  by 
letting  her  false  teeth  slip  out,  and  clapping  them  in  again. 

I  had  no  idea  of  the  existence  of  such  phenomena,  and 
could  almost  as  soon  have  expected  her  to  take  oil'  her  head 
and  re-adjust  it.  She  lived  in  Hed  Lion  Square,  a  quarter 
in  diflerent  estimation  from  what  it  is  now.  It  was  at  her 
house,  I  believe,  that  my  father  one  evening  met  Wilkes. 
He  did  not  know  him  by  sight,  and  happening  to  fall  into 
conversation  with  him,  while  the  latter  sat  looking  down,  he 
said  something  in  Wilkes's  disparagement ;  on  which  the 
jovial  demagogue  looked  up  in  his  face  and  burst  out  a 
laughing. 

I  do  not  exactly  know  how  people  dressed  at  that  time  ; 
but  I  b'elieve  that  sacks,  and  negligees,  and  toupees  were 
going  out,  and  the  pigtail  and  the  simpler  modern  style  of 
dress  coming  in.  I  recollect  hearing  my  mother  describe  the 
misery  of  having  her  hair  dre.=!?ed  two  or  three  stories  high, 
and  of  lying  in  it  all  night  ready  for  some  visit  or  spectacle 
next  day.  I  think  I  also  recollect  seeing  Wilkes  himself  in 
an  old-fashioned  flap-waistcoated  suit  of  scarlet  and  gold ; 
and  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  Murphy,  the  dramatist,  a  good 
deal  later,  in  a  suit  of  a  like  fashion,  though  soberer,  and  a 
large  cocked-hat.  The  cocked-hat  in  general  survived  till 
nearly  the  present  century.  It  was  superseded  by  the  round 
one  during  the  French  Revolution.  I  remember  our  steward 
at  school,  a  very  solenm  personage,  making  his  appearance 
in  one  to  our  astonishment,  and  not  a  little  to  the  diminution 
of  his  dignity.  Some  years  later,  I  saw  Mr.  Pitt  in  a  blue 
coat,  buckskin  breeches  and  boots,  and  a  round  hat,  with 
powder  and  pigtail.  He  was  thin  and  gaunt,  with  his  hat 
ofT  his  forehead,  and  his  nose  in  the  air.  Much  about  the 
same  time  I  saw  his  friend,  the  first  Lord  Liverpool,  a 
respectable  looking  old  gentleman,  in  a  brown  wig.  Later 
still,  I  saw  Mr.  Fox,  fat  and  jovial,  though  he  was  then 
declining.      He,  who  had  been  a  '-beau"  in  his  youth,  then 


HOUSE  OF  LORDS  FIFTY  YEARS  SINCE.  G3 

looked  something  Quaker-like  as  to  dress,  with  plain  colored 
clothes,  a  broad  round  hat,  white  waistcoat,  and,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  white  stockings.  He  was  standing  in  Parliament- 
street,  just  where  the  street  commences  as  you  leave  White- 
hall ;  and  was  making  two  young  gentlemen  laugh  heartily 
at  something  which  he  seemed  to  be  relating. 

My  father  once  took  me — but  I  can  not  say  at  what 
period  of  my  juvenility — into  both  houses  of  Parliament.  In 
the  Commons,  I  saw  Mr.  Pitt  sawing  the  air,  and  occasion- 
ally turning  to  appeal  to  those  about  him,  while  he  spoke  in 
a  loud,  important,  and  hollow  voice.  When  the  persons  he 
appealed  to,  said  "  Hear  I  hear  I"  I  thought  they  said  "  Dear  I 
dear  I"  in  objection  ;  and  I  wondered  that  he  did  not  seem 
in  the  least  degree  disconcerted.  The  house  of  Lords,  I 
must  say  (without  meaning  disrespect  to  an  assembly  which 
must  always  have  contained  some  of  the  most  accomplished 
men  in  the  country),  surprised  me  with  the  personally  in- 
significant look  of  its  members.  I  had,  to  be  sure,  conceived 
exaggerated  notions  of  the  magnates  of  all  countries  ;  and 
perhaps  might  have  expected  to  behold  a  set  of  conscript  fa- 
thers ;  but  in  no  respect,  real  or  ideal,  did  they  appear  to  nle 
in  their  corporate  aspect,  like  any  thing  which  is  understood 
by  the  word  "  noble."  The  Commons  seemed  to  me  to  have 
the  advantage  ;  though  they  surprised  me  with  lounging  on 
the  benches  and  retaining  their  hats.  I  was  not  then  in- 
formed enough  to  know  the  diflerence  between  apparent  and 
substantial  importance  ;  much  less  aware  of  the  positive  ex- 
altation, which  that  very  simplicity,  and  that  absence  of 
pretension,  gave  to  the  most  potent  assembly  in  Europe. 


CHAPTER  III. 

S  C  H  O  O  L-D  AYS. 

Children's  books. — Hogarth. — Christ-Hospital. — Moral  and  personal 
courage. — Anecdote  of  a  racket-ball. — Fagging. — Visits  of  Queen 
Victoria  to  the  school. — Details  respecting  that  foundation,  its  man- 
ners and  customs,  modes  of  training,  distinguished  scholars,  preach- 
ers, and  schoolmasters,  &c. — Tooke's  Pantheon  and  the  British 
Poets. — Scalded  legs  and  the  luxuries  of  a  sick  ward. 

Books  for  children  during  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century  had  been  in  a  bad  way,  with  sordid  and  merely 
plodding  morals — ethics  that  were  necessary  perhaps  for  a 
certain  stage  in  the  progress  of  commerce  and  for  its  greatest 
ultimate  purposes  /'undreamt  of  by  itself),  but  which  thwarted 
healthy  and  large  views  of  society  for  the  time  being.  They 
were  the  consequences  of  an  altogether  unintellectual  state 
of  trade,  aided  and  abetted  by  such  helps  to  moi'ality  as 
Hogarth's  pictures  of  the  Good  and  Bad  Apprentice,  which 
identified  virtue  with  prosperity. 

Hogarth,  in  most  of  his  pictures,  was  as  healthy  a  moralist 
as  he  supposed  himself,  but  not  for  the  reasons  which  ho 
supposed.  The  gods  he  worshiped  were  Truth  and  Pru- 
dence ;  but  he  saw  more  of  the  carnal  than  spiritual  beauties 
of  either.  He  was  somewhat  of  a  vulgarian  in  intention  as 
well  as  mode.  But  wherever  there  is  genius,  there  is  a  genial 
something  greater  than  the  accident  of  breeding,  than  the 
prevaihng  disposition,  or  even  than  the  conscious  design  ;  and 
this  portion  of  divinity  within  the  painter,  saw  fair-play  be- 
tween his  conventional  and  immortal  part.  It  put  the 
beauty  of  color  into  his  mirth,  the  counteraction  of  mirth 
into  his  melancholy,  and  a  lesson  beyond  his  intention  into 
all  :  that  is  to  say,  it  suggested  redemptions  and  first  causes 
for  the  objects  of  his  satire  ;  and  thus  vindicated  the  justice 
of  nature,  at  the  moment  when  he  was  thinking  of  little  but 
the  pragmaticalness  of  art. 

The  children's  books  in  those  days  were  Hogarth's  pictures 


CHRIST-HOSPITAL  SCHOOL.  U5 

taken  in  llieir  most  literal  acceptation.  Every  good  boy  was 
to  ride  in  liis  coach,  and  be  a  lord  mayor  ;  and  every  bad  boy 
was  to  be  hung,  or  eaten  by  lions.  The  gingerbread  was 
gilt,  and  the  books  were  gilt  like  the  gingerbread;  a  "take 
in"  the  more  gross,  inasmuch  as  nothing  could  be  plainer  or 
less  dazzling  than  the  books  of  the  same  boys  when  they 
grew  a  little  older.  There  was  a  lingering  old  ballad  or  so 
in  favor  of  the  gallanter  apprentices  who  tore  out  lion's  hearts 
and  astonished  gazing  sultans  ;  and  in  antiquarian  corners, 
Percy's  "  Heliques"  were  preparing  a  nobler  age,  both  in 
poetry  and  prose.  But  the  first  counteraction  came,  as  it 
ought,  in  the  shape  of  a  new  book  for  children.  The  pool 
of  mercenary  and  time-serving  ethics  was  first  blown  over 
by  the  fresh  country  breeze  of  Mr.  Day's  "  Sandford  and 
Merton" — a  production  that  I  well  remember,  and  shall 
ever  be  grateful  to.  It  came  in  aid  of  my  mother's  per- 
plex!'ies  between  delicacy  and  hardihood,  between  courage 
and  conscientiousness.  It  assisted  the  cheerfulness  I  in- 
herited from  my  father ;  showed  me  that  circumstances 
were  not  to  crush  a  healthy  gayety,  or  the  most  masculine 
self-respect ;  and  helped  to  supply  me  with  the  resolution  of 
standing  by  a  principle,  not  merely  as  a  point  of  lowly  or 
lofty  sacrifice,  but  as  a  matter  of  common  sense  and  duty, 
and  a  simple  co-operation  with  the  elements  of  natural  wel- 
fare. 

I  went,  nevertheless,  to  school  at  Christ-Hospttal,  an  ultra- 
S)rmpathizing  and  timid  boy.  The  sight  of  boys  fighting, 
from  which  I  had  been  so  anxiously  withheld,  frightened  me 
as  something  devilish  ;  and  the  least  threat  of  corporal  chas- 
tisement to  a  school-fellow  (for  the  lesson  I  had  learned  would 
have  enabled  mo  to  bear  it  myself)  aflected  me  to  tears.  I 
remember  to  this  day,  merely  on  that  account,  the  name  of 
a  boy  who  was  to  receive  punishment  for  some  oflense  about 
a  task.  It  was  Lcmoine.  (I  hereby  present  him  with  my 
respects,  if  he  is  an  existing  old  gentleman,  and  hope  he  has 
not  lost  a  pleasing  countenance.)  He  had  a  cold  and  hoarse- 
ness ;  and  his  voice,  while  pleading  in  mitigation,  sounded  to 
me  so  pathetic,  that  I  wondered  how  the  master  could  have 
the  heart  to  strike  him. 


6(;  LIFE  OF  LFIOH  HUNT. 

Readers,  who  have  been  at  a  public  school,  may  guess  the 
consequence.  I  was  not  of  a  disposition  to  give  ofTense,  but 
neither  was  I  quick  to  take  it  ;  and  this,  to  the  rude,  energy- 
cultivating  spirit  of  boys  in  general  (not  the  worst  thing  in 
the  world,  till  the  pain  in  preparation  for  them  can  l)c 
diminished),  was  itself  an  offense.  I  therefore  '•  went  to 
the  wall,"  till  address,  and  the  rousing  of  my  own  spirit, 
tended  to  right  me ;  but  I  went  through  a  great  deal  of  fear 
in  the  process.  I  became  convinced,  that  if  I  did  not  put 
moral  courage  in  the  place  of  personal,  or,  in  other  words, 
undergo  any  stubborn  amount  of  pain  and  wretchedness, 
rather  than  submit  to  what  I  thought  wrong,  there  was  an 
end  for  ever,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  of  all  those  fine 
things  that  had  been  taught  me,  in  vindication  of  right  and 
justice. 

Whether  it  was,  however,  that  by  the  help  of  animal 
spirits  I  possessed  some  portion  of  the  courage  for  which  the 
rest  of  the  family  was  remarkable,  or  whether  I  was  a  ver- 
itable coward,  born  or  bred,  destined  to  show,  in  my  person, 
how  far  a  spirit  of  love  and  freedom  could  supersede  the 
necessity,  of  gall,  and  procure  me  the  respect  of  those  about 
me,  certain  it  is,  that  although,  except  in  one  instance,  I 
did  my  best  to  avoid,  and  succeeded  honorably  in  avoiding, 
those  personal  encounters  with  my  school-fellows,  which,  iu 
confronting  me  on  my  own  account  with  the  face  of  a  fel- 
low-creature, threw  me  upon  a  sense  of  something  devilish, 
and  overwhelmed  me  with  a  sort  of  terror  for  both  jiarties, 
yet  I  gained  at  an  early  period  of  boyhood  the  reputation 
of  a  romantic  enthusiast,  whose  daring  in  behalf  of  a 
friend  or  a  good  cause  nothing  could  put  down.  I  was 
obliged  to  call  in  the  aid  of  a  feeling  apart  from  my  own 
sense  of  personal  antagonism,  and  so  merge  the  diabolical, 
as  it  were,  into  the  human.  In  other  words,  I  had  not 
self-respect  or  gall  enough  to  be  angry  on  my  owni  account, 
unless  there  was  something  at  stake  which,  by  concerning 
others,  gave  me  a  sense  of  support,  and  so  pieced  out  my 
want  with  their  abundance.  The  moment,  however,  that 
I  felt  thus  supported,  not  only  did  all  misgiving  vanish  from 
my  mind,  but  contempt  of  pain  toak  possession  of  my  body.. 


■MORAL  AND  PERSONAL  COURAGE.  G7 

and  my  poor  mother  might  have  gloried  through  her  tears 
in  the  loving  courage  of  her  son. 

I  state  the  case  thus  proudly,  both  in  justice  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  trained  me,  and  because  I  conceive  it  may 
do  good.  I  never  fought  with  a  boy  but  once,  and  then  it 
was  on  my  own  account ;  but  though  I  beat  him,  I  was 
frightened  and  eagerly  sought  his  good  will.  I  dared  every 
thing,  however,  from  the  biggest  and  strongest  boys  on  other 
accounts,  and  was  sometimes  afforded  an  opportunity  of 
showing  my  spirit  of  martyrdom.  The  truth  is,  I  could 
suffer  better  than  act ;  for  the  utmost  activity  of  martyrdom 
is  supported  by  a  certain  sense  of  passivcness.  We  are  not 
bold  from  ourselves,  but  from  something  which  compels  us 
to  be  so,  and  which  supports  us  by  a  sense  of  the  necessity. 

I  had  not  been  long  in  the  school,  when  this  spirit  within 
me  broke  out  in  a  manner  that  procured  me  great  esteem. 
There  was  a  monitor  or  "  big  boy"  in  office,  who  had  a  trick 
of  entertaining  himself  by  pelting  Jesser  boys'  heads  with  a 
hard  ball.  He  used  to  throw  it  at  this  boy  and  that ;  make 
the  throicee  bring  it  back  to  him  ;  and  then  send  a  rap  with 
it  on  his  cerebellum,  as  he  was  going  off. 

I  had  borne  this  spectacle  one  day  for  some  time,  when 
the  family  precepts  rising  within  me,  I  said  to  myself,  "  I 
must  go  up  to  the  monitor,  and  speak  to  him  about  this." 
I  issued  forth  accordingly  and  to  the  astonishment  of  all 
present,  who  had  never  witnessed  such  an  act  of  insubordi- 
nation, I  said,  "  You  have  no  right  to  do  this."  The  mon- 
itor, more  astounded  than  any  one,  exclaimed  "  What  ?'  I 
repeated  my  remonstrance.  He  treated  me  with  the  greatest 
contempt,  as  if  disdaining  even  to  strike  me  ;  and  fini.shed, 
by  ordering  mo  to  "stand  out."  "Standing  out"  meant 
going  to  a  particular  spot  in  the  hall  where  we  dined.  I 
did  so  ;  but  just  as  the  steward  (the  master  in  that  place) 
was  entering  it,  the  monitor  called  to  me  to  come  away ;  and 
I  neither  heard  any  more  of  standing  out,  nor  saw  any  more 
of  the  ball.  I  do  not  recollect  that  he  even  "spited"  me 
afterward,  which  must  have  been  thought  very  remarkable. 
I  seemed  fairly  to  have  taken  away  the  breath  of  his  calcu- 
lations.     The  probability  is,  that  he  was  a  good  lad,  who 


(58  LIFE  OF  LKIGII  HUNT. 

had  got  a  bad  habit.  Boys  often  become  tyrants  from  a 
notion  of  its  being  grand  and  manly. 

Another  monitor,  a  year  or  two  afterward,  took  it  into  his 
head  to  Ibrcc  me  to  be  his  fag.  Fag  was  not  the  term  at 
our  school,  though  it  was  in  our  vocabulary.  Fag,  with  us, 
meant  eatables.  The  learned  derived  the  word  from  the 
Greek  phago,  to  eat.  I  had  so  little  objection  to  serve  out 
of  love,  that  there  is  no  office  I  could  not  have  performed 
for  good- will ;  but  it  had  been  given  out  that  I  had  determ- 
ined not  to  be  a  menial  on  any  other  terms,  and  the  moni- 
tor in  question  undertook  to  bring  me  to  reason.  He  was  a 
mild,  good-looking  boy  about  fourteen,  remarkable  for  the 
neatness,  and  even  elegance  of  his  appearance. 

Receiving  the  refusal,  for  which  he  had  been  prepared, 
he  showed  me  a  knot  in  a  long  handkerchief,  and  told  me  I 
should  receive  a  lesson  from  that  handkerchief  every  day, 
with  the  addition  of  a  fresh  knot  every  time,  unless  I  chose 
to  alter  my  mind.  I  did  not  choose.  I  received  the  daily 
or  rather  nightly  lesson,  for  it  was  then  most  convenient  to 
strip  me,  and  I  came  out  of  the  ordeal  in  triumph.  I  never 
was  fag  to  any  body  ;  never  made  any  body's  bed,  or  cleaned 
his  shoes,  or  was  the  boy  to  get  his  tea,  much  less  expected 
to  stand  as  a  screen  for  him*  before  the  fire  ;  which  I  have 
seen  done,  though  upon  the  whole  the  boys  were  very  mild 
governors. 

Lamb  has  noticed  the  character  of  the  school  for  good 
manners,  which  he  truly  describes  as  being  equally  removed 
from  the  pride  of  aristocratic  foundations  and  the  servility  of 
the  charity-schools.  I  believe  it  retains  this  character  still; 
though  the  changes  which  its  system  underwent  not  long 
ago,  fusing  all  the  schools  into  one  another,  and  introducing 
a  more  generous  diet,  is  thought  by  some  not  to  have  been 
followed  by  an  advance  in  other  respects.  I  have  heard  the 
school  charged,  more  lately,  with  having  been  suflered,  in 
the  intervals  between  the  school  hours,  to  fall  out  of  the 
liberal  and  gentlemanly  supervision  of  its  best  teachers,  into 
the  hands  of  an  officious  and  ignorant  sectarianism.  But 
this  may  only  have  been  a  passing  abuse. 

I  love  and  honor  the  school  on  private  accc  unts  :   and  I 


QUEEN  VICTORIA  AT  CHRIST-HOSPITAL.  69 

feel  a  public  interest  in  its  welfare,  inasmuch  as  it  is  one  of 
those  judicious  links  with  all  classes,  the  importance  of  which, 
especially  at  a  time  like  the  present,  can  not  be  too  highly- 
estimated  ;  otherwise  I  should  have  said  nothing  to  its  pos- 
sible, and  I  hope  transient  disadvantage.  Queen  Victoria 
recognized  its  importance,  by  visits  and  other  personal  con- 
descensions, long  before  the  late  changes  in  Europe  could 
have  diminished  the  grace  of  their  bestowal ;  and  I  will 
venture  to  say,  that  every  one  of  those  'attentions  will  have 
sown  for  her  generoias  nature  a  crop  of  loyalty  worth  hav- 
ing. 

But  for  the  benefit  of  such  as  are  unacquainted  with  the 
city,  or  with  a  certain  track  of  reading,  I  must  give  a  more 
particular  account  of  a  school  which,  in  truth  is  a  curiosity. 
Thousands  of  inhabitants  of  the  metropolis  have  gone  from 
west-end  to  east-end,  and  till  the  new  hall  was  laid  open  to 
view  by  the  alterations  in  Newgate-street,  never  suspected 
that  in  the  heart  of  it  lies  an  old  cloistered  foundation, 
where  a  boy  may  grow  up,  as  I  did,  among  seven  hundred 
others,  and  know  as  little  of  the  very  neighborhood  as  the 
world  does  of  him. 

Perhaps  there  is  not  a  foundation  in  the  country  so  truly 
English,  taking  that  word  to  mean  what  Englishmen  wish  it 
to  mean  ;  something  solid,  unpretending,  of  good  character, 
and  free  to  all.  More  boys  are  to  be  found  in  it  who  issue 
from  a  greater  variety  of  ranks,  than  in  any  other  school  in 
the  kingdom  :  and  as  it  is  the  most  various,  so  it  is  the 
largest,  of  all  the  free  schools.  Nobility  do  not  go  there  ex- 
cept as  boarders.  Now  and  then  a  boy  of  a  noble  family  may 
be  met  with,  and  he  is  reckoned  an  interloper,  and  against 
the  charter  ;  but  the  sons  of  poor  gentry  and  London  citizens 
abound ;  and  with  them  an  equal  share  is  given  to  the  sons 
of  tradesman  of  the  very  humblest  description,  not  omitting 
servants.  I  would  not  take  my  oath,  but  I  have  a  strong 
recollection,  that  in  my  time  there  were  two  boys,  one  of  whom 
went  up  into  the  drawing-room  to  his  father,  the  master  of  the 
house;  and  the  other  down  into  the  kitchen  to  his  father,  the 
coachman.  One  thing,  however,  I  know  to  be  certain,  and 
it  is  the  noblest  of  all  ;   namely,  that  the  boys  themselvei 


70  Lll'^E  OF   LI:;iGil   HUNT. 

(at  least  it  was  so  in  iny  tiinu),  had  no  sort  of  feeling  of  the 
difl'erence  of  one  another's  ranks  out  of  doors.  The  clever- 
est boy  was  the  noblest,  let  his  father  be  who  he  might. 

CiiRisT-lIo.smxAL  is  a  nursery  of  tradesmen,  of  merchants, 
of  naval  oiricers,  of  scholars  ;  it  has  produced  some  of  the 
greatest  ornaments  of  their  time  ;  and  the  feeling  among  the 
boys  themselves  is,  that  it  is  a  medium,  between  the  patrician 
pretension  of  such  schools  as  Eton  and  Westminster,  and  the 
plebeian  submission  of  the  charity  schools.  In  point  of  Uni- 
versity honors,  it  claims  to  be  equal  with  the  best;  and 
though  other  schools  can  show  a  greater  abundance  of  emi- 
nent names,  I  know  not  where  many  will  be  found  Avho  are 
a  greater  host  in  themselves.  One  original  author  is  worth 
a  hundred  transmitters  of  elegance  ;  and  such  a  one  is  to  be 
found  in  R-ichardson,  who  here  received  what  education  he 
possessed.  Here  Camden  also  received  the  rudiments  of  his. 
Bishop  Stillingfleet,  according  to  the  memoirs  of  Pepys,  lately 
published,  was  brought  up  in  this  school.  We  have  had 
many  eminent  scholars,  two  of  them  Greek  professors,  to-wit, 
Barnes,  and  the  present  Mr.  Scholefield,  the  latter  of  whom 
attained  an  extraordinary  succession  of  University  honors. 
The  rest  are  Markland  ;  Middleton,  late  Bishop  of  Calcutta  ; 
and  Mitchell  the  translator  of  "Aristophanes."  Christ-Hos- 
pital, I  believe,  toward  the  close  of  the  last  century,  and  the 
beginning  of  the  present,  sent  out  more  living  writers,  in  its 
proportion  than  any  other  school.  There  was  Dr.  Richards,- 
author  of  the  "  Aboriginal  Britons  ;"  Dyer,  whose  life  was 
one  unbroken  dream  of  learning  and  goodness,  and  who  used 
to  make  us  wonder  with  passing  through  the  school-room 
(where  no  other  person  in  "  town-clothes"  ever  appeared)  to 
consult  books  in  the  library  ;  Le  Grice,  the  translator  of 
"Longus;"  Home,  author  of  some  well-known  productions 
in  controversial  divinity ;  Surr,  the  novelist  (not  in  the 
Grammar  school) ;  James  White,  the  friend  of  Charles  Lamb, 
and  not  unworthy  of  him,  author  of  "  Falstafi's  letters," 
(this  was  he  who  used  to  give  an  anniversary  dinner  to  the 
chimney-sweepers,  merrier  than,  though  not  so  magnificent 
as  Mrs.  Montague's) ;  Pitman,  a  celebrated  preacher,  editor 
of  some  school-books,  and  religious  classics  ;   Mitchell,  before 


EMINENT  CHRIST-HOSPITAL  MEN.  71 

mentioned  ;  myself,  who  stood  next  him ;  Barnes,  who  came 
next,  the  editor  of  the  '■  Times."  than  whom  no  man  (if  he 
had  cared  for  it)  could  have  been  more  cei'tain  of  attaining 
celebrity  for  wit  and  literature;.  Townsend,  a  prebendary  of 
Durham,  author  of  "  Armageddon,"  and  several  theological 
works;  Gilly  another  of  the  Durham  prebendaries,  who 
wrote  the  "Narrative  of  the  Waldenses;"  Scargill,  a  Uni- 
tarian minister,  author  of  some  tracts  on  Peace  and  War, 
&;c.;  and  lastly,  whom  I  have  kept  by  way  of  climax,  Col- 
eridge and  Charles  Lamb,  two  of  the  most  original  geniuses, 
not  only  of  the  day,  but  of  the  country.  We  have  had  an 
embassador  among  us  ;  but,  as  he,  I  understand,  is  ashamed 
of  us,  we  are  hereby  more  ashamed  of  him,  and  accordingly 
omit  him. 

In  the  time  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  Christ-Hospital  was  a 
monastery  of  Franciscan  friars.  Being  dissolved  among  the 
others,  Edward  the  Sixth,  moved  by  a  sermon  of  Bishop 
Ridley's,  assigned  the  revenues  of  it  to  the  maintenance 
and  education  of  a  certain  number  of  poor  orphan  children, 
born  of  citizens  of  London.  I  believe  there  has  been  no 
law  passed  to  alter  the  letter  of  this  intention ;  which  is  a 
pity,  since  the  alteration  has  taken  place.  An  extension  of 
it  was  probably  very  good,  and  even  demanded  by  circum- 
stances. I  have  reason,  for  one,  to  be  grateful  for  it.  But 
tampering  with  matters-of-fact  among  children  is  dangerous. 
They  soon  learn  to  distinguish  between  allowed  poetical  fic- 
tion and  that  which  they  are  told,  under  severe  penalties, 
never  to  be  guilty  of ;  and  this  early  sample  of  contradiction 
between  the  thing  asserted  and  the  obvious  fact,  can  do  no 
good  even  in  an  establishment  so  plain-dealing  in  other  re- 
spects as  Christ-Ho.spital.  The  place  is  not  only  designated 
as  an  Orphan-house  in  its  Latin  title,  but  the  boys,  in  the 
prayers  which  they  repeat  every  day,  implore  the  pity  of 
Heaven  upon  "  us  poor  orphans."  I  remember  the  perplex- 
ity this  caused  me  at  a  very  early  period.  It  is  true,  the  word 
orphan  may  be  used  in  a  sense  implying  destitution  of  any 
sort ;  but  this  was  not  its  Christ-Hospital  intention  ;  nor  do 
the  younger  boys  give  it  the  benefit  of  that  scholarly  inter- 
pr  lafion.      There  was  another  thing  (now,  I  believe,  done 


72  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  IICNT. 

away)  which  existed  in  my  time,  and  perplexed  me  still 
more.  It  seemed  a  glarinir  instance  of  the  practice  likely 
to  result  from  tlic  other  assumption,  and  made  me  prepare; 
for  a  hundred  falsehoods  and  deceptions,  whiph,  mixed  up 
with  contradiction,  as  most  things  in  society  are,  I  sometimes 
did  find,  and  oftener  dreaded.  I  allude  to  a  foolish  custom 
they  had  in  the  ward  which  I  first  entered,  and  which  was 
the  only  one  that  the  company  at  the  public  suppers  were 
in  the  habit  of  going  into,  of  hanging  up,  by  the  side  of  each 
bed,  a  clean  white  napkin,  which  M'as  supposed  to  be  the 
one  used  by  the  occupiers.  Now  these  napkins  were  only 
for  show,  the  real  towels  being  of  the  largest  and  coarsest 
kind.  If  the  masters  had  been  asked  about  them,  they 
Avouk]  doubtless  have  told  the  truth  ;  perhaps  the  nurses 
w^ould  have  done  so.  But  the  boys  Avere  not  aware  of  this. 
There  they  saw  these  "  white  lies"  hanging  before  them,  a 
conscious  imposition ;  and  I  well  remember  how  alarmed 
I  used  to  feel,  lest  any  of  the  company  should  direct  their 
inquiries  to  me. 

Christ-Hospital  (for  this  is  its  proper  name,  and  not 
Christ's  Hospital)  occupies  a  considerable  portion  of  ground 
between  Newgate-street,  Giltspur-street,  St.  Bartholomew's, 
and  Little  Britain.  There  is  a  quadrangle  with  cloisters  ; 
and  the  square  inside  the  cloisters  is  called  the  Garden,  and 
most  likely  was  the  monastery  garden.  Its  only  delicious 
crop,  for  many  years,  has  been  pavement.  Another  large 
area,  presenting  the  Grammer  and  Navigation  schools,  is 
also  misnomered  the  Ditch  :  the  town-ditch  having  formerly 
run  that  way.  In  Newgate-street  is  seen  the  hall,  or  eat- 
ing-room, one  of  the  noblest  in  England,  adorned  with  enor- 
mously long  paintings  by  Yerrio  and  others,  and  with  an 
organ.  A.  portion  of  the  old  quadrangle  once  contain- 
ed the  library  of  the  monks,  and  was  built  or  repair- 
ed by  the  famous  Whittington,  whose  arms  were  to  be 
seen  outside ;  but  alterations  of  late  years  have  done  it 
away. 

In  the  cloisters,  a  number  of  persons  lie  buried,  besides 
the  officers  of  the  house.  Among  them  is  Isabella,  wife  of 
Edward  the  Second,  the  "she-wolf  of  France."      I  was  not 


ACCOUNT  OF  CHRIST-HOSPITAL.  78 

aware  of  this  circumstance  then  ;  but  many  a  time,  with 
a  recollection  of  some  lines  in  "Blair's  Grave"  upon  me, 
have  I  •  run  as  hard  as  I  could  at  night-time  from  my  ward 
to  another,  in  order  to  borrow  the  next  volume  of  some 
ghostly  romance.  In  one  of  the  cloisters  was  an  impression 
resembling  a  gigantic  foot,  which  was  attributed  by  some  to 
the  angry  stamping  of  the  ghost  of  a  beadle's  wife  I  A 
beadle  was  a  higher  sound  to  us  than  to  most,  as  it  involved 
ideas  of  detected  apples  in  church-time,  "skulking"  (as  it 
was  called)  out  of  bounds,  and  a  power  of  reporting 
us  to  the  masters.  But  fear  does  not  stand  upon  rank  and 
ceremony. 

The  wards,  or  sleeping-rooms,  are  twelve,  and  contained, 
in  my  time,  rows  of  beds  on  each  side,  partitioned  off,  but 
connected  with  one  another,  and  each  having  two  boys  to 
sleep  in  it.  Down  the  middle  ran  the  bins  for  holdinjj 
bread  and  other  things,  and  serving  for  a  table  when  the 
meal  was  not  taken  in  the  hall ;  and  over  the  bins  hung  a 
great  homely  chandelier. 

To  each  of  these  wards  a  nurse  was  assigned,  who  was 
the  widow  of  some  decent  liveryman  of  London,  and  who 
had  the  charge  of  looking  after  us  at  night-time,  seeing  to 
our  washing,  Sec.  and  carving  for  us  at  dinner  :  all  of  which 
gave  her  a  good  deal  of  power,  more  than  her  name  warrant- 
ed. The  nurses,  however,  were  almost  invariably  very  de- 
cent people,  and  performed  their'duty  ;  which  was  not  always 
the  case  with  the  young  ladies,  their  daughters.  There  were 
five  schools  ;  a  grammar-school,  a  mathematical  or  naviga- 
tion-school (added  by  Charles  the  Second),  a  writing,  a  draw- 
ing, and  a  reading  school.  Those  who  could  not  read  when 
they  came  on  the  foundation,  went  into  the  last.  There 
were  few  in  the  last-but-one,  and  I  scarcely  know  what 
they  did,  or  for  what  object.  The  writing-school  was 
for  those  who  were  intended  for  trade  and  commerce ; 
the  mathematical,  for  boys  who  went  as  midshipmen  into  the 
naval  and  East  India  service  ;  and  the  grammar-school  for 
such  as  were  designed  for  the  Church,  and  to  go  to  the  Univer- 
sity. The  writing-school  was  by  far  the  largest ;  and,  what 
is  very  curious  (which  is  not  the  case  now),  all  these  schools 
VOL.  r. — D 


7  1  LIKE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

were  keitt  quite  distinct  so  that  a  boy  might  arrive  at  tho 
age  of"  fifteen  in  the  grammar-school,  and  not  know  his  mul- 
tipUcation-table  ;  which  was  the  case  with  myself.  Nor  do 
I  know  it  to  this  day  I  Shades  of  Horace  Waljoole  and  of 
Lord  Lyttelton  I  come  to  my  assistance,  and  enable  me  to 
bear  the  confession  :  but  so  it  is.  The  fault  was  not  my 
fault  at  the  time  ;  but  I  ought  to  have  repaired  it  when  I 
went  out  in  the  world ;  and  great  is  the  mischief  which  it 
has  done  me. 

Most  of  these  schools  had  several  masters ;  besides  whom 
there  was  a  steward,  who  took  care  of  our  subsistence,  and 
who  had  a  general  superintendence  over  all  hours  and  cir- 
cumstances not  connected  with  teaching.  The  masters  had 
almost  all  been  in  the  school,  and  might  expect  pensions 
or  livings  in  their  old  age.  Among  those  in  my  time,  the 
mathematical  master  was  Mr.  Wales,  a  man  well  known 
for  his  science,  who  had  been  round  the  world  with  Captain 
Cook  :  for  which  we  highly  venerated  him.  He  Avas  a  good 
man,  of  plain,  simple  manners,  with  a  heavy,  large  person  and 
a  benign  countenance.  When  he  was  in  Otaheite,  the  na- 
tives played  him  a  trick  while  bathing,  and  stole  his  small- 
clothes ;  which  we  used  to  think  a  liberty,  scarcely  credible 
The  name  of  the  steward,  a  thin  stiff  man  of  invincible  for- 
mality of  demeanor,  admirably  fitted  to  render  encroach- 
ment impossible,  was  Hathaway.  We  of  the  grammar- 
school  used  to  call  him  "  the  Yeoman,"  on  account  of  Shaks- 
peare  having  married  the  daughter  of  a  man  of  that  name, 
designated  as  "  a  substantial  yeoman." 

Our  dress  was  of  the  coarsest  and  quaintest  kind,  but  was 
respected  out  of  doors,  and  is  so.  It  consisted  of  a  blue  drug- 
get gown,  or  body,  with  ample  coats  to  it ;  a  yellow  vest 
underneath  in  winter-time;  .small-clothes  of  Russia  duck; 
worsted  yellow  stockings  ;  a  leathern  girdle ;  and  a  little 
black  worsted  cap,  usually  carried  in  the  Land.  I  believe  it 
was  the  ordinary  dress  of  children  in  humble  life,  during  the 
reign  of  the  Tudors.  We  used  to  flatter  ourselves  that  it 
was  taken  froni  tlie  monks  ;  and  there  went  a  monstrous  tra- 
dition, that  at  one  period  it  consisted  of  blue  velvet  with  sil- 
ver buttons.     It  was  said  also,  that  during  the  blissful  era 


ASCETIC  SCHOOL-FARCE.  75 

of  the  blue  velvet,  we  had  roast  mutton  for  supper,  but  that 
the  small-clothes  not  being  then  in  existence,  and  the  mutton 
suppers  too  luxurious,  the  eatables  were  given  up  for  the  in- 
elliibles. 

A  malediction,  at  heart,  always  followed  the  memory  of 
him  who  had  taken  upon  himself  to  decide  so  preposterously 
To  say  the  truth,  we  were  not  too  well  fed  at  that  time, 
either  in  quantity  or  quality  ;  and  we  could  not  eater  with 
our  hungry  imaginations  into  these  remote  philosophies.  Our 
breakfast  was  bread  and  Avater,  for  the  beer  was  too  bad  to 
drink.  The  bread  consisted  of  the  half  of  a  three-halfpenny 
loaf,  according  to  the  prices  then  current.  I  suppose  it  would 
now  be  a  good  twopenny  one  ;  certainly  not  a  threepenny. 
This  was  not  much  for  growing  boys,  who  had  had  nothing 
to  eat  from  six  or  seven  o'clock  the  preceding  evening.  For 
dinner,  we  had  the  same  quantity  of  bread,  with  meat  only 
every  other  day,  and  that  consisting  of  a  small  slice,  such  as 
would  be  given  to  an  infant  three  or  four  years  old.  Yet 
even  that,  with  all  our  hunger,  we  very  often  left  half-eaten  ; 
the  meat  was  so  tough.  On  the  other  days,  we  had  a  milk- 
porridge,  ludicrously  thin ;  or  rice-milk,  which  was  better. 
There  were  no  vegetables  or  puddings.  Once  a  month  we 
had  roast  beef;  and  twice  a  year  (I  blush  to  think  of  the 
eagerness  with  which  it  was  looked  for  !)  a  dinner  of  pork. 
One  was  roast,  and  the  other  boiled  ;  and  on  the  latter  oc- 
casion we  had  our  only  pudding,  which  was  of  pease.  I 
blush  to  remember  this,  not  on  account  of  our  poverty,  but 
on  account  of  the  sordidness  of  the  custom.  There  had  much 
better  have  been  none.  For  supper,  we  had  a  like  piece  of 
bread,  with  butter  or  cheese  ;  and  then  to  bed,  "  with  what 
appetite  we  might." 

Our  routine  of  life  was  this.  We  rose  to  the  call  of  a 
bell,  at  six  in  summer,  and  seven  in  winter ;  and  after  comb- 
ing ourselves,  and  washing  our  hands  and  faces,  went  at  the  call 
of  another  bell  to  breakfast.      All  this  took  up  about  an  hour. 

From  breakfast  we  proceeded  to  school,  where  Ave  remain- 
ed till  elcA'cn,  Avinter  and  summer,  and  then  had  an  hour's 
play.  Dinner  took  place  at  tAVclve.  AflerAvard  Avas  a  little 
play  till  one,  when  we  again  Avent  to  school,  and  remained 


76  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

till  live  in  summer  and  four  in  winter.  At  six  was  the  sup- 
per. We  used  to  play  after  it  in  summer  till  eight.  In 
winter,  we  proceeded  from  supper  to  bed.  On  Sundays,  the 
school-time  of  the  other  days  was  occupied  in  church,  both 
morning  and  evening  ;  and  as  the  Bible  was  read  to  us  every 
day  befoi'c  every  meal,  and  on  going  to  bed,  besides  prayers 
and  graces,  \vc  rivaled  the  monks  in  the  religious  part  of  our 
duties. 

The  elicct  was  certainly  not  what  was  intended.  The 
Bible  perhaps  was  read  thus  frequently,  in  the  first  instance, 
out  of  contradiction  to  the  papal  spirit  that  had  so  long  kept 
it  locked  up  ;  but,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  repetition 
was  not  so  desirable  among  a  parcel  of  hungry  boys,  anxious 
to  get  their  modicum  to  eat.  On  Sunday,  what  with  the 
long  service  in  the  morning,  the  service  again  after  dinner, 
and  the  inaudible  and  indifferent  tones  of  some  of  the 
preachers,  it  was  unequivocally  tiresome.  I,  for  one,  who 
had  been  piously  brought  up,  and  continued  to  have  religion 
inculcated  on  me  by  father  and  mother,  began  secretly  to 
become  as  indifferent  as  I  thought  the  preachers;  and, 
though  the  morals  of  the  school  were  in  the  main  excellent 
and  exemplary,  we  all  felt,  without  knowing  it,  that  it  was 
the  orderliness  and  example  of  the  general  system  that  kept 
us  so,  and  not  the  religious  part  of  it ;  which  seldom  entered 
our  heads  at  all,  and  only  tired  us  when  it  did. 

I  am  not  begging  any  question  here,  or  speaking  for  or 
against.  I  am  only  stating  a  fact.  Others  may  argue,  that, 
however  superfluous  the  readings  and  prayers  might  have, 
been,  a  good  general  spirit  of  religion  must  have  been  incul- 
cated, because  a  great  deal  of  virtue  and  religious  charity  is 
known  to  have  issued  out  of  that  school,  and  no  fanaticism.  I 
shall  not  dispute  the  point.  The  case  is  true ;  but  not  the  less 
true  is  what  I  speak  of.  Latterly  there  came,  as  our  parish 
clergyman,  Mr.  Crowther,  a  nephew  of  our  famous  Rich- 
ardson, and  worthy  of  the  talents  and  virtues  of  his  kinsman, 
though  inclining  to  a  mode  of  faith  which  is  supposed  to 
produce  more  faith  than  charity.  But,  till  then,  the  persons 
who  were  in  the  habit  of  getting  up  in  our  church  pulpit 
and  reading-desk,   might  as  well  have  hummed  a  tune  to 


CHRIST-CHURCH  TREACHERS.  17 

their  diaphragms.  They  inspired  us  with  nothing  but  mim- 
icry. The  name  of  the  morning-reader  was  Salt.  He  was 
a  worthy  man,  I  believe,  and  might,  for  aught  we  knew, 
have  been  a  clever  one  ;  but  he  had  it  all  to  himself  He 
spoke  in  his  throat,  with  a  sound  as  if  he  was  weak  and 
corpulent ;  and  was  famous  among  us  for  saying  "  murra- 
cles"  instead  of  "miracles."  When  we  imitated  him,  this 
was  the  only  word  we  drew  upon :  the  rest  was  unintelligi- 
ble suffocation.  Our  usual  evening  preacher  was  Mr.  Sandi- 
ford,  who  had  the  reputation  of  learning  and  piety.  It  was 
of  no  use  to  us,  except  to  make  us  associate  the  ideas  of 
learning  and  piety  in  the  pulpit  with  inaudible  hum-drum. 
Mr.  Sandiford's  voice  was  hollow  and  low ;  and  he  had  a 
habit  of  dipping  up  and  down  over  his  book,  like  a  chicken 
drinking.  Mr.  Salt  was  eminent  for  a  single  word.  Mr. 
Sandiford  surpassed  him,  for  he  had  two  audible  phrases. 
There  was,  it  is  true,  no  great  variety  in  them.  One  was 
"the  dispensation  of  Moses ;"  the  other  (with  a  due  interval 
of  hum),  "  the  Mosaic  dispensation."  These  he  used  to  repeat 
so  often,  that  in  our  caricatures  of  him  they  sufficed  for  an 
entire  portrait.  The  reader  may  conceive  a  large  church 
(it  was  Christ-Church,  Newgate-street),  with  six  hundred 
boys,  seated  like  charity-children  up  in  the  air,  on  each  side 
of  the  organ,  Mr.  Sandiford  humming  in  the  valley,  and  a 
few  maid-servants  who  formed  his  afternoon  congregation. 
We  did  not  dare  to  go  to  sleep.  We  were  not  allowed  to 
read.  The  great  boys  used  to  get  those  that  sat  behind 
thcni  to  play  with  their  hair.  Some  whispered  to  their 
neighbors,  and  the  others  thought  of  their  lessons  and  tops. 
I  can  safely  say,  that  many  of  us  would  have  been  good 
listeners,  and  most  of  us  attentive  ones,  if  the  clergyman 
could  have  been  heard.  As  it  was,  I  talked  as  well  as  the 
rest,  or  thought  of  my  exercise.  Sometimes  wo  could  not 
help  joking  and  laughing  over  our  weariness  ;  and  then  the 
fear  was,  lest  the  steward  had  seen  us.  It  was  part  of  the 
business  of  the  stcM'ard  to  preside  over  the  boys  in  church-time. 
He  sat  aloof,  in  a  place  where  he  could  view  the  whole  of 
his  flock.  There  was  a  ludicrous  kind  of  revenge  we  had 
of  him,  whenever  a  particular  part  of  the  Bible  was  read. 


78  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

This  was  the  parable  of  the  Unjust  Steward.  The  boys 
waited  anxiously  till  the  passage  commenced ;  and  then, 
as  if  by  a  general  conspiracy,  at  the  words  "  thou  unjust 
steward,"  the  whole  school  turned  their  eyes  upon  this  unfor- 
tunate officer,  who  sat 

"Like  Tencriffor  Atlas  unremoved." 

We  persuaded  ourselves,  that  the  more  unconscious  he  look- 
ed, the  more  he  was  acting. 

By  a  singular  chance,  there  were  two  clergymen,  occa- 
sional preachers  in  our  pulpit,  who  were  as  loud  and  start- 
ling, as  the  others  were  somniferous.  One  of  them,  Avith  a 
sort  of  flat,  high  voice,  had  a  remarkable  way  of  making  a 
ladder  of  it,  climbing  higher  and  higher  to  the  end  of  the 
sentence.  It  ought  to  be  described  by  the  gamut,  or  written 
up-hill.  Perhaps  it  was  an  association  of  ideas,  that  has 
made  me  recollect  one  particular  passage.  It  is  where 
Ahab  consults  the  prophets,  asking  them  whether  he  shall 
go  up  to  Ramolh  Gilead  to  battle.  "  Shall  I  go  against 
Ramoth  Gilead  to  battle,  or  shall  I  forbear  ?  and  they  said. 
Go  up  ;  for  the  Lord  shall  deliver  it  into  the  hand  of  the 
king."  He  used  to  give  this  out  in  such  a  manner,  that 
you  might  have  fancied  him  climbing  out  of  the  pulpit  sword 
in  hand.  The  other  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  noble 
voice.  He  would  commence  a  prayer  in  a  most  stately  and 
imposing  manner,  full  both  of  dignity  and  feeling  ;  and  then, 
as  if  tired  of  it,  would  hurry  over  all  the  rest.  Indeed,  he 
began  every  prayer  in  this  way,  and  was  as  sure  to  hurry 
it;  for  which  reason,  the  boys  hailed  the  sight  of  him,  as 
they  knew  they  should  get  sooner  out  of  church.  When  he 
commenced  in  his  noble  style,  the  band  seemed  to  tremble 
against  his  throat,  as  though  it  had  been  a  sounding-board. 

Being  able  to  read,  and  knoM-ing  a  little  Latin,  I  was  put 
at  once  into  the  Under  Grammar  School.  IIow  much  time 
I  wasted  there  in  learning  the  accidence  and  syntax,  I  can 
not  say  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  a  long  while.  My  grammar 
seemed  always  to  open  at  the  same  place.  Things  are 
managed  difi'crently  now,  I  believe,  in  this  as  well  as  in 
many  other  respects.     Great  improvements  have  been  made 


CHANGES  AT  CHRIST-HOSPITAL.  79 

ill  the  whole  establishment.  The  boys  feed  better,  learn 
better,  and  have  longer  holidays  in  the  country.  In  my 
time,  they  never  slept  out  of  the  school,  but  on  one  occa- 
sion, during  the  vi^hole  of  their  stay  ;  this  was  for  three 
weeks  in  summer-time,  which  they  were  bound  to  pass 
at  a  certain  distance  from  London.  They  now  have  these 
holidays  with  a  reasonable  frequency  ;  and  they  all  go  to 
the  different  schools,  instead  of  being  confined,  as  they 
were  then,  some  to  notliing  but  writing  and  ciphering, 
and  some  to  the  languages.  It  has  been  doubted  by  some 
of  us  elders,  whether  this  system  will  beget  such  temperate, 
proper  students,  with  pale  faces,  as  the  other  did.  I  dare 
say,  our  successors  arc  not  afraid  of  us.  I  had  the  pleasure, 
some  years  since,  of  dining  in  company  with  a  Deputy  Gre- 
cian, who,  with  a  stout  rosy-faced  person,  had  not  failed  to 
acquire  the  scholarly  turn  for  joking ;  which  is  common  to 
a  classical  education  ;  as  well  as  those  sim]3le,  becoming 
manners,  made  up  of  modesty  and  proper  confidence,  which 
have  been  often  remarked  as  distinguishing  the  boys  oa  this 
foundation. 

"  But  what  is  a  Deputy  Grecian  ?"  Ah,  reader  I  to  ask 
that  question,  and  at  the  same  time  to  know  any  thing  at  all 
worth  knowing,  would  at  one  time,  according  to  our  notion 
of  things,  have  been  impossible.  When  I  entered  the  school, 
I  was  shown  three  gigantic  boys,  young  men  rather  (for  the 
eldest  was  between  seventeen  and  eighteen),  who,  I  was  told, 
were  going  to  the  University.  These  were  the  Grecians. 
They  were  the  three  head  boys  of  the  Grammar  School,  and 
were  understood  to  have  their  destiny  fixed  for  the  Church. 
The  next  class  to  these,  like  a  College  of  Cardinals  to  those 
three  Popes  (for  every  Grecian  was  in  our  eyes  infallible), 
were  the  Deputy  Grecians.  The  former  were  supposed  to 
have  completed  their  Greek  studies,  and  were  deep  in 
Sophocles  and  Euripides.  The  latter  were  thought  equally 
competent  to  tell  you  any  thing  respecting  Homer  and  De- 
mosthenes. These  two  classes,  and  the  head  boys  of  the 
Navigation  School,  held  a  certain  rank  over  the  whole  place, 
both  in  school  and  out.  Indeed,  the  whole  of  the  Navigation 
School,  upon  the  strength  of  cultivating  their  valor  for  the 


80  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

navy,  and  being  called  King's  Boys,  had  succeeded  in  estab- 
lishing an  extraordinary  pretension  to  respect.  This  they 
sustained  in  a  manner  as  laughable  to  call  to  mind,  as  it 
was  grave  in  its  reception.  It  was  an  etiquette  among  them 
never  to  move  out  of  a  right  line  as  they  walked,  whoever 
stood  in  their  way.  I  believe  there  was  a  secret  understand- 
ing with  Grecians  and  Deputy  Grecians,  the  former  of  whom 
were  unquestionably  lords  paramount  in  point  of  fact,  and 
stood  and  walked  aloof  when  all  the  rest  of  the  school  were 
marshaled  in  bodies.  I  do  not  remember  any  clashing  be- 
tween these  civil  and  naval  powers ;  but  I  remember  well 
my  astonishment  when  I  first  beheld  some  of  my  little 
comrades  overthrown  by  the  progress  of  one  of  these  very 
straightforward  marine  personages,  who  walked  on  with  as 
tranquil  and  unconscious  a  face  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
It  was  not  a  fierce-looking  push  ;  there  seemed  to  be  no  in- 
tention in  it.  The  insolence  lay  in  the  boy  not  appearing  to 
know  that  such  inferior  creatures  existed.  It  was  always 
thus,  wherever  he  came.  If  aware,  the  boj^s  got  out  of  his 
way  ;  if  not,  down  they  went,  one  t-r  more  ;  away  rolled  the 
top  or  the  marbles,  and  on  walked  the  future  captain, 

In  maiden  navigation,  frank  and  free. 

These  boys  wore  a  badge  on  the  shoulder,  of  which  tney 
were  very  proud  ;  though  in  the  streets  it  must  have  helped 
to  confound  them  with  charity  boys.  For  charity  boys,  I 
must  own,  wc  all  had  a  great  contempt,  or  thought  so.  We 
did  not  dare  to  know  that  there  might  have  been  a  little 
jealousy  of  our  own  position  in  it,  placed  as  wc  were  mid- 
way between  the  homeliness  of  the  common  charity-school  and 
the  dignity  of  the  foundations.  We  called  them  "  chizzy- 
wags,''  and  had  a  particular  scorn  and  hatred  of  their  nasal 
tone  in  singing. 

The  under  grammar-master,  in  my  time,  was  the  Pi^cver- 
end  Mr.  Field.  He  was  a  good-looking  man,  very  gentle- 
manly, and  always  dressed  at  the  neatest.  I  believe  he  once 
wrote  a  play.  He  had  the  reputation  of  being  admired  by 
the  ladies.  A  man  of  a  more  handsome  incompetence  for 
his  situation  perhaps  did  not  exist.     He  came  \%iQ  of  a  morn- 


A  DELICATE  SCHOOLMASTER.  m 

ing  ;  went  away  soon  in  the  afternoon ;  and  used  to  walk 
up  and  down,  languidly  bearing  his  cane,  as  if  it  was  a  lily, 
and  hearing  our  eternal  Domimiscs  and  As  in  prascnti's 
with  an  air  of  ineffable  endurance.  Often  he  did  not  hear 
at  all.  It  was  a  joke  with  us,  when  any  of  our  friends 
came  to  the  door,  and  we  asked  his  permission  to  go  to  them 
to  address  him  with  some  preposterous  question  wide  of  the 
mark  ;  to  which  he  used  to  assent.  We  would  say,  for  in- 
stance, "j!\reyou  not  a  great  fool,  sir?"  or  "  Isn't  your  daugh- 
ter a  pretty  girl  ?"  To  Avhich  he  would  reply,  "  Yes,  child." 
When  he  condescended  to  hit  us  with  the  cane,  he  made  a 
face  as  if  he  was  taking  physic.  Miss  Field,  an  agreeable- 
looking  girl,  was  one  of  the  goddesses  of  the  school  ;  as  far 
above  us  as  if  she  had  lived  on  Olympus.  Another  was 
Miss  Patrick,  daughter  of  the  lamp-manufacturer  in  New- 
gate-street. I  do  not  remember  her  face  so  well,  not  seeing 
it  so  often  ;  but  she  abounded  in  admirers.  I  write  the 
names  of  these  ladies  at  full  length,  because  there  is  nothing 
that  should  hinder  their  being  pleased  at  having  caused  us 
so  many  agreeable  visions.  We  used  to  identify  them  with 
the  picture  of  Venus  in  Tooke's  Pantheon. 

The  other  master,  the  upper  one,  Boyer — famous  for  the 
mention  of  him  by  Coleridge  and  Lamb — was  a  short,  stout 
man,  inclining  to  punchiness,  with  large  face  and  hands,  an 
aquiline  nose,  long  upper  lip,  and  a  sharp  mouth.  His  eye 
was  close  and  cruel.  The  spectacles  which  lie  wore  threw 
a  balm  over  it.  Being  a  clergyman,  he  dressed  in  black, 
with  a  powdered  wig.  His  clothes  were  cut  short ;  his  hands 
hung  out  of  the  sleeves,  with  tight  wristbands,  as  if  ready  for 
execution ;  and  as  he  generally  wore  gray  worsted  stockings, 
very  tight,  with  a  little  balustrade  leg,  his  whole  appearance 
presented  something  formidably  succinct,  hard,  and  mechan- 
ical. In  fact,  his  weak  side,  and  undoubtedly  his  natural 
destination,  lay  in  carpentry  ;  and  he  accordingly  carried,  in 
a  side-pocket  made  on  purpose,  a  carpenter's  rule. 

The  merits  of  Boyer  consisted  in  his  being  a  good  verbal 
scholar,  and  conscientiously  acting  up  to  the  letter  of  time 
and  attention.  I  have  seen  him  nod  at  the  close  of  the  long 
summer  school-hours,  wearied  out ;   and  I  should  have  pitied 


82  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

him  if  he  had  taught  us  to  do  any  thing  but  fear.  Though 
a  clergyman,  very  orthodox,  and  of  rigid  morals,  he  indulged 
himself  in  an  oath,  which  was  "  God's-my-life  I"  When 
you  were  out  in  your  lesson,  he  turned  upon  you  a  round, 
staring  eye,  like  a  fish  ;  and  he  had  a  trick  of  pinching  you 
under  the  chin,  and  by  the  lobes  of  the  ears,  till  he  would 
make  the  blood  come.  He  has  many  times  lifted  a  boy  off 
the  ground  in  this  way.  He  was,  indeed,  a  proper  tyrant, 
passionate  and  capricious  ;  would  take  violent  likes  and  dis- 
likes to  the  same  boys  ;  fondle  some  without  any  apparent 
reason,  though  he  had  a  leaning  to  the  servile,  and,  perhaps 
to  the  sons  of  rich  people  ;  and  he  would  persecute  other.s  in 
a  manner  truly  frightful.  I  have  seen  him  beat  a  sickly- 
looking,  melancholy  boy  (C — n)  about  the  head  and  cars,  till 
the  poor  fellow,  hot,  dry-eyed,  and  confused,  seemed  lost  in 
bewilderment.  C — n,  not  long  after  he  took  orders  died 
out  of  his  senses.  I  do  iiot  attribute  that  catastrophe  to  the 
master  ;  and  of  course  he  could  not  wish  to  do  him  any  last- 
ing mischief.  He  had  no  imagination  of  any  sort.  But 
there  is  no  saying  how  far  his  treatment  of  the  boy  might 
have  contributed  to  prevent  a  cure.  Tyi'annical  school- 
masters nowadays  are  to  be  found,  perhaps,  exclusively  in 
such  inferior  schools  as  those  described  with  such  masterly 
and  indignant  edification  by  my  friend  Charles  Dickons  ;  but 
they  formerly  seemed  to  have  abounded  in  all ;  and  masters 
as  well  as  boys,  have  escaped  the  chance  of  many  bitter  re- 
flections, since  a  wiser  and  more  generous  intercourse  has 
come  up  between  them. 

I  have  some  stories  of  Boyer,  that  will  completely  show 
his  character,  and  at  the  same  time  relieve  the  reader's  in- 
dignation by  something  ludicrous  in  their  excess.  We  had 
a  few  boarders  at  the  school ;  boys,  whose  parents  were  too 
rich  to  let  them  go  on  the  foundation.  Among  them,  in  my 
time,  was  Carlton,  a  son  of  Lord  Dorchester;  Macdonald,  one 

of  the  Lord  Chief  Baron's  sons  ;   and  R ,  the  son  of  a 

rich  merchant.  Carlton,  who  was  a  fine  fellow,  manly,  and 
full  of  good  sense,  took  his  new  master  and  his  caresses  very 
coolly,  and  did  not  want  them.  Little  Macdonald  also  could 
dispense  with  them,   and  would  put  on  his  delicate  gloves 


A  TERRIFYING  MASTER  AND  HIS  PUPIL.  83 

after  lesson,  with  an  air  as  if  he  resumed  his  patrician-  phi- 

mage.      II was  meeker,  and  wilhiig-  to  be  encouraged  ; 

and  there  would  the  master  sit,  with  his  arm  round  his 
tall  waist,  helping  him  to  his  Greek  verbs,  as  a  nurse  does 
bread  and  milk  to  an  infant ;  and  repeating  them,  when  he 
missed,  with  a  fond  patience ;  that  astonished  us  criminals  in 
drugget. 

Very  different  was  the  treatment  of  a  boy  on  the  founda- 
tion, whose  friends,  by  some  means  or  other,  had  prevailed 
on  the  master  to  pay  him  an  extra  attention,  and  try  to  get 
him  on.  He  had  come  into  the  school  at  an  age  later  than 
usual,  and  could  hardly  read.  There  was  a  book  used  by 
the  learners  in  reading,  called  "  Dialogues  between  a  Mis- 
sionary and  an  Indian."  It  was  a  poor  performance,  full  of 
inconclusive  arguments  and  other  commonplaces.  The  boy 
ill  question  used  to  appear  with  this  book  in  his  hand  in  the 
middle  of  the  school,  the  master  standing  behind  him.      The 

lesson  was  to  begin.      Poor ,  whose  great  fault  lay  in 

a  deep-toned  drawl  of  his  syllables  and  the  omission  of  his 
stops,  stood  half-looking  at  the  book,  and  half-casting  his  eye 
toward  the  right  of  him,  whence  the  blows  were  to  proceed. 
The  master  looked  over  him  ;  and  his  hand  was  ready.  I 
am  not  exact  in  my  quotation  at  this  distance  of  time  ;  but 
the  spirit  of  one  of  the  passages  that  I  recollect  was  to  the 
following  purport,  and  thus  did  the  teacher  and  his  pupil 
proceed  : 

Master.  "  Now,  young  man,  have  a  care  ;  or  I'll  set 
you  a  sivinging  task."      (A  common  phrase  of  his.) 

Piqnl.  (Making  a  sort  of  heavy  bolt  at  his  calamity, 
and  never  remembering  his  stop  at  the  word  Missionary.) 
"  Missionary  Can  you  see  the  wind  ?" 

(Master  gives  him  a  slap  on  the  cheek.) 

Pupil.  (Raising  his  voice  to  a  cry,  and  still  forgetting 
his  stop.)      "  Indian  No  I" 

Master.  " God's-my-life,  young  man!  have  a  care  how 
you  provoke  me." 

Pupil.  (Always  forgetting  the  stop.)  ''Missionary 
How  then  do  you  know  that  there  is  such  a  thing  ?" 

(Here  a  terrible  thump.) 


84  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Piqnl  (With  a  shout  of  agony.)  "  Indian  Because  I 
foel  it." 

One  anecdote  of  his  injustice  will  suffice  for  all.  It  is 
of  ludicrous  enormity ;  nor  do  I  believe  any  thing  more 
flagrantly  willful  was  ever  done  by  himself.  I  hoard  Mr. 
C. ,  the  suflerer,  now  a  most  respectable  person  in  a  gov- 
ernment office,  relate  it  with  a  due  relish,  long  after  quitting 
the   school.      The   master  was   in   the  habit  of  "  spiting" 

C ;   that  is  to  say,  of  taking  every  opportunity  to  be 

severe  with  him  ;  nobody  knew  why.  One  day  he  comes 
into  the  school,  and  finds  him  placed  in  the  middle  of  it  with 
three  other  boys.  He  was  not  in  one  of  his  worst  humors, 
and  did  not  seem  inclined  to  punish  them,  till  he  saw  his 
antagonist.  "  Oh,  oh  I  sir,"  said  he  ;  "  what,  you  are  among 
them,  are  you  ?"  and  gave  him  an  exclusive  thump  on  the 
face.  He  then  turned  to  one  of  the  Grecians,  and  said,  "  1 
have  not  time  to  flog  all  these  boys  :  make  them  draw  lots, 

and  I'll  punish  one."      The  lots  were  drawn,  and  C 's 

was  favorable.  "  Oh,  oh  I"  returned  the  master,  when  he 
saw  them,  "  you  have  escaped,  have  you,  sir?"  and  pulling 
out  his  watch,  and  turning  again  to  the  Grecian  observed, 
that  he  found  he  had  time  to  punish  the  whole  three  ;    "  and, 

sir,"  added  he  to  C ,  with  another  slap,  "  I'll  begin  with 

you'"  He  then  took  the  boy  into  the  library  and  flogged 
him ;  and,  on  issuing  forth  again,  had  the  face  to  say,  with 
an  air  of  indifl'erence,  '=  I  have  not  time,  after  all,  to  punish 
these  two  other  boys  :  let  them  take  care  how  they  provoke 
me  another  time." 

Often  did  I  wish  that  I  was  a  fairy,  in  order  to  play  him 
tricks  like  a  Caliban.  We  used  to  sit  and  fancy  what  we 
should  do  with  his  wig  ;  how  we  would  hamper  and  vex 
him;  "put  knives  in  his  pillow,  and  halters  in  his  pew." 
To  venture  on  a  joke  in  our  own  mortal  persons,  was  like 
playing  with  Polyphemus.  One  afternoon,  when  he  was 
nodding  with  sleep  over  a  lesson,  a  boy  of  the  name  of  Meader, 
who  stood  behind  him,  ventured  to  take  a  pin,  and  begin 
advanciiig  with  it  up  his  wig.  The  hollow,  exhibited 
between  the  wig  and  the  nape  of  the  neck,  invited  him. 
The  boys  encouraged  this  daring  act  of  gallantry.      Nods 


A  VENTURE  UP  A  WIG.  8S 

and  beclcs,  and  then  whispers  of  "  Go  it,  M.  I"  gave  more 
and  more  valor  to  his  hand.  On  a  sudden,  the  master's 
head  falls  back ;  he  starts,  wdth  eyes  like  a  shark ;  and 
seizing  the  unfortunate  culprit,  who  stood  helpless  in  the  act 
of  holding  the  pin,  caught  hold  of  him,  fiery  with  passion. 

A  "  swinging  task"  ensued,  which  kept  hira  at  home  all 
the  holidays.  One  of  these  tasks  would  consist  of  an  impos- 
sible quantity  of  Virgil,  which  the  learner,  unable  to  retain 
it  at  once,  wasted  his  heart  and  soul  out  "  to  get  up,"  till  it 
was  too  late. 

Sometimes,  however,  our  despot  got  into  a  dilemma,  and 
then  he  did  not  know  how  to  get  out  of  it.  A  boy,  now  and 
then,  would  be  roused  into  open  and  fierce  remonstrance.  I 
recollect  S.,  afterward  one  of  the  mildest  of  preachers,  start- 
ing up  in  his  place,  and  pouring  forth  on  his  astonished 
hearer  a  torrent  of  invectives  and  threats,  which  the  other 
could  only  answer  by  looking  pale,  and  uttering  a  few  threats 
in  return.  Nothing  came  of  it.  He  did  not  like  such 
matters  to  go  before  the  governors.  Another  time,  Favell, 
a  Grecian,  a  youth  of  high  spirit,  whom  he  had  struck,  went 
to  the  school-door,  opened  it,  and,  turning  round  with  the 
handle  iu  his  grasp,  told  him  he  would  never  set  foot  again 
in  the  place,  unless  he  promised  to  treat  him  with  more 
delicacy.  "  Come  back,  child  ;  come  back  !"  said  the  other, 
pale,  and  in  a  faint  voice.  There  was  a  dead  silence. 
Favell  came  back,  and  nothing  more  was  done. 

A  sentiment,  unaccompanied  with  something  practical, 
would  have  been  lost  upon  him.  D ,  who  went  after- 
ward to  the  Military  College  at  Woolwich,  played  him  a 
trick,  apparently  between  jest  and  earnest,  which  amused  us 
exceedingly.  He  was  to  be  flogged  ;  and  the  dreadful  door 
of  the  library  was  approached.  (They  did  not  invest  the 
books  with  flowers,  as  Montaigne  recommends.)  Down  falls 
the  criminal,  and  twisting  himself  about  the  master's  legs, 
which  he  does  the  more  when  the  other  attempts  to  move, 
repeats  without  ceasing,  "  O,  good  God  I  consider  my  flither, 
sir  ;  my  father,  sir  ;   you  know  my  father  I"      The  point  was 

felt  to  be  getting  ludicrous,  and  was  given  up.      V ,  now 

a  popular  preacher,  was  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  the  boys 


6G  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

that  way.  He  was  a  regular  wag  ;  and  would  snatch  his 
jokes  out  of  the  very  flame  and  fury  of  the  master,  like  snap- 
dragon. Whenever  the  other  struck  him,  P.  would  get  up  ; 
and  half  to  avoid  the  blows,  and  half  render  them  ridiculous, 
begin  moving  about  the  school-room,  making  all  sorts  of 
antics.  When  he  was  struck  in  the  face,  he  would  clap  his 
hand  with  aflected  vehemence  to  the  place,  and  cr}-^  as 
rapidly,  "  Oh,  Lord  !"  If  the  blow  came  on  the  arm,  he 
would  grasp  his  arm,  with  a  similar  exclamation.  The 
master  would  then  go,  driving  and  kicking  him  ;  while  the 
patient  accompanied  every  blow  with  the  same  comments  and 
illustrations,  making  faces  to  us  by  way  of  index. 

What  a  bit  of  a  golden  age  was  it,  when  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Steevens,  one  of  the  under  grammar-masters,  took  his  place, 
on  some  occasion,  for  a  short  time  I  Steevens  was  short  and 
lat,  with  a  handsome,  cordial  face.  You  loved  him  as  you 
looked  at  him ;  and  seemed  as  if  you  should  love  him  the 
more,  the  fatter  he  became.  I  stammered  when  I  was  at 
that  time  of  life  :  which  was  an  infirmity,  that  used  to  get 
me  into  terrible  trouble  with  the  master.  Steevens  used  to 
say,  on  the  other  hand,  "  Here  comes  our  little  black-haired 
friend,  who  stammers  so.  Now,  let  us  see  what  we  can  do 
for  him."  The  consequence  was,  I  did,  not  hesitate  half  so 
much  as  with  the  other.  When  I  did,  it  was  out  of  impa- 
tience to  please  him. 

Such  of  us  were  not  lilccd  the  better  by  the  master  as  were 
in  favor  with  his  wife.  She  was  a  sprightly,  good-looking 
woman,  with  black  eyes  ;  and  was  beheld  with  transport  by 
the  boys,  whenever  she  appeared  at  the  school-door.  Her 
husband's  name,  uttered  in  a  mingled  tone  of  good-nature 
and  imperativeness,  brought  him  down  from  his  seat  with 
smihng  haste.  Sometimes  he  did  not  return.  On  en- 
tering the  school  one  day,  he  found  a  boy  eating  cherries. 
"  Where  did  you  get  those  cherries  ?"  exclaimed  he,  thinking 
the  boy  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself.  "  Mrs.  Boyer  gave 
them  me,  sir."  He  turned  away,  scowling  with  disappoint- 
ment. 

Speaking  of  fruit,  reminds  me  of  a  pleasant  trait  on  the 
part  of  a  Grecian  of  the  name  of  Le   Grice.      He  was  the 


THE  "GRECIAN"  LE  GRICE.  87 

maddest  of  all  the  great  boys  in  my  time  ;  clever,  full  of  ad- 
dress, and  not  hampered  with  modesty.  Pvemote  rumors, 
not  lightly  to  be  heard,  fell  on  our  ears,  respecting  pranks 
of  his  among  the  nurses'  daughters.  He  had  a  fair,  hand- 
some face,  with  delicate  aquiline  nose,  and  twinkling  eyes. 
I  remember  his  astonishing  me,  when  I  was  "  a  new  boy," 
with  sending  me  for  a  bottle  of  water,  which  he  proceeded  to 
pour  down  the  back  of  G.  a  grave  Deputy  Grecian.  On  the 
master  asking  one  day,  why  he,  of  all  the  boys,  had  given  up 
no  exercise  (it  was  a  particular  exercise  that  they  were  bound 
to  do  in  the  course  of  a  long  set  of  holidays),  he  said  he  had 
had  '=  a  lethargy."  The  extreme  impudence  of  this  puzzled 
the  master  ;  and  I  believe  nothing  came  of  it.  But  what  1 
alluded  to  about  the  fruit  was  this.  Le  Grice  was  in  the 
habit  of  eating  apples  in  school-time,  for  which  he  had  been 
often  rebuked.  -One  day,  having  particularly  pleased  the 
master,  the  latter  who  was  eating  apples  himself,  and  who 
would  now  and  then  with  great  ostentation  present  a  boy 
with  some  half-penny  token  of  his  mansuetude,  called  out  to 
his  favorite  of  the  moment ;  "  Le  Grice,  here  is  an  apple  for 
you."  Le  Grice,  who  felt  his  dignity  hurt  as  a  Grecian,  but 
was  more  pleased  at  having  this  opportunity  of  mortifying 
his  reprover,  replied,  with  an  exquisite  tranquillity  of  assur- 
ance, "  Sir,  I  never  eat  apples."  For  this,  among  other 
things,  the  boys  adored  him.  Poor  fellow  I  He  and  Favell 
(who,  though  very  generous,  was  said  to  bo  a  little  too  sens- 
ible of  an  humble  origin)  wrote  to  the  Duke  of  York,  when 
they  were  at  College,  for  commissions  in  the  army.  The 
Duke  good-naturedly  sent  them.  Le  Grice  died  in  the  West 
Indies.  Favell  was  killed  in  one  of  the  battles  in  Spain,  but 
not  before  he  had  distinguished  himself  as  an  officer  and  a 
gentleman. 

The  Upper  Grammar  School  was  divided  into  four  classes, 
or  forms.  The  two  under  ones  were  called  Little  and  Great 
Erasmus  ;  the  two  upper  were  occupied  by  the  Grecians  and 
Deputy  Grecians.  We  used  to  think  the  title  of  Erasmus 
taken  from  the  great  scholar  of  that  name  ;  but  the  sudden 
appearance  of  a  portrait  among  us,  bearing  to  be  the  likeness 
of  a  certain  Erasmus  Smith,  Esq.,  shook  us  terribly  in  this 


ns  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  IIUXT 

opinion,  and  Avas  a  hard  trial  of  our  gratitude.  We  scarcely 
relished  this  perpetual  company  of  our  benefactor,  watching 
us,  as  he  seemed  to  do,  with  his  omnipresent  eyes.  I  believe 
he  was  a  rich  merchant,  and  that  the  forms  of  Little  and 
Great  Erasmus  were  really  named  after  him.  It  was  but 
a  poor  consolation  to  think  that  he  himself,  or  his  great-uncle, 
might  have  been  named  after  Erasmus.  Little  Erasmus 
learned  Ovid ;  Great  Erasmus,  Virgil,  Terence,  and  the 
Greek  Testament.  The  Deputy  Grecians,  were  in  Homer, 
Cicero,  and  Demosthenes  ;  the  Grecians,  in  the  Greek  plays 
and  the  mathematics. 

When  a  boy  entered  the  Ujjpcr  School,  he  was  understood 
to  be  in  the  road  to  the  Univei'sity,  provided  he  had  inclina- 
tion and  talents  for  it;  but,  as  only  one  Grecian  a  year 
went  to  College,  the  drafts  out  of  Great  and  Little  Erasmus 
into  the  writing-scliool  were  numerous.  A  few  also  became 
Deputy  Grecians  without  going  farther,  and  entered  the 
world  from  that  form.  Those  who  became  Grecians,  always 
went  to  the  University,  though  not  always  into  the  Church  ; 
which  was  reckoned  a  departure  from  the  contract.  When 
I  first  came  to  school,  at  seven  years  old,  the  names  of  the 
Grecians  were  Allen,  Favell,  Thomson,  and  Le  Grice,  brother 
of  the  Le  Grice  above-mentioned,  and  now  a  clergyman  in 
Cornwall.  Charles  Lamb  had  lately  been  Deputy  Grecian  ; 
and  Coleridge  had  left  for  the  University. 

The  master,  inspired  by  his  subject  with  an  eloquence  be- 
yond himself,  once  called  him,  "  that  sensible  fool,  Coleridge ;" 
pronouncing  the  word  like  a  dactyl.  Coleridge  must  have 
alternately  delighted  and  bewildered  him.  The  compliment, 
as  to  the  bewildering,  was  returned,  if  not  the  delight.  The 
pupil;  I  am  told,  said  he  dreamt  of  the  master  all  his  life, 
and  that  his  dreams  were  horrible.  A  bonmot  of  his  is  re- 
corded, very  characteristic  both  of  pupil  and  master.  Cole- 
ridge when  he  heard  of  his  death,  said,  "It  was  lucky  that 
the  cherubim  who  took  him  to  heaven  were  nothing  but  faces, 
and  wings,  or  he  would  infallibly  have  flogged  them  by  the 
way."  This  was  his  esoterical  opinion  of  him.  His  out- 
ward and  subtler  opinion,  or  opinion  exoterical,  he  favored 
the  public  within  his  Literary  Life.      He  praised  him,  among 


BOYBR'S  HANDICRAFT  ENTHUSIASM.  89 

other  things,  for  his  good  taste  in  poetiy,  and  his  not  suffering 
the  boys  to  get  into  the  commonplaces  of  Castalian  Streams, 
Invocations  to  the  Muses,  &c.  Certainly  there  were  no 
such  things  in  our  days,  at  least,  to  the  best  of  my  remem 
brance.  But  I  do  not  think  the  master  saw  through  them, 
out  of  a  perception  of  any  thing  farther.  His  objection  to  a 
commonplace  must  have  been  itself  commonplace. 

I  do  not  remember  seeing  Coleridge  when  I  was  a  child. 
Lamb's  visits  to  the  school,  after  he  left  it,  I  remember  well, 
with  his  fine  intelligent  face.  Little  did  I  think  I  should 
have  the  pleasure  of  sitting  with  it  in  after-times  as  an  old 
friend,  and  seeing  it  careworn  and  still  finer.  Allen,  the 
Grecian,  was  so  handsome,  though  in  another  and  more  ob- 
vious way,  that  running  one  day  against  a  barrow-woman  in 
the  street,  and  turning  round  to  appease  her  in  the  midst  of 
her  abuse,  she  said,  "Where  are  you  driving  to,  you  great 
hulking,  good-for-nothing,  beautiful  fellow,  God  bless  you  I" 
Le  G  .ice  the  elder  was  a  wag,  like  his  brother,  but  more 
staid.  He  went  into  the  Church,  as  he  ought  to  do,  and 
married  a  rich  widow.  He  published  a  translation,  abridged, 
of  the  celebrated  pastoral  of  Longus ;  and  report  at  school 
made  him  the  author  of  a  little  anonymous  tract  on  the  ArL 
of  Poking  the  Fire. 

Few  of  us  cared  for  any  of  the  books  that  were  taught : 
and  no  pains  were  taken  to  make  us  do  so.  The  boys  had 
no  helps  to  information,  bad  or  good,  except  what  the  master 
afforded  them  respecting  manufactures  ;  a  branch  of  knowl- 
edge, to  which,  as  I  before  observed,  he  had  a  great  tendency, 
and  which  was  the  only  point  on  which  he  was  enthusiastic 
and  gratuitous.  I  do  not  blame  him  for  what  he  taught  ua 
of  this  kind  :  there  was  a  use  in  it,  beyond  what  he  was 
aware  of;  but  it  was  the  only  one  on  which  he  volunteered 
any  assistance.  In  this  he  took  evident  delight.  I  remem- 
ber, in  explaining  pigs  of  iron  or  lead  to  us,  he  made  a  point 
of  crossing  one  of  his  legs  with  the  other,  and  cherishing  it 
up  and  down  with  great  satisfaction,  saying,  "  A  pig,  chil- 
dren, is  about  the  thickness  of  my  leg."  Upon  which,  with 
a  slavish  pretense  of  novelty,  w'c  all  looked  at  it,  as  if  he 
had  not  told  us  so  a  hundred  times.      In  every  thing  else  we 


90  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

had  to  hunt  out  our  own  knowledge.  lie  would  not  help 
us  with  a  word  till  he  had  ascertained  that  we  had  done  all 
we  could  to  learn  the  meaning  of"  it  ourselves.  This  disci- 
pline was  useful ;  and,  in  this  and  every  other  respect,  we 
had  all  the  advantages  which  a  mechanical  sense  of  right, 
and  a  rigid  exaction  of  duty,  could  aflbrd  us  ;  but  no  farther. 
The  only  superfluous  grace  that  he  was  guilty  of,  was  the 
keeping  a  manuscript  book,  in  which  by  a  rare  luck,  the  best 
exercise  in  English  verse  was  occasionally  copied  out  for 
immortality  I  To  have  verses  in  "the  Book"  was  the  rarest 
and  highest  honor  conceivable  to  our  imaginations. 

How  little  did  I  care  for  any  verses  at  that  time, 
except  English  ones ;  I  had  no  regard  even  for  Ovid.  I 
read  and  knew  nothing  of  Horace ;  though  I  had  got  some- 
how a  liking  for  his  character.  Cicero  I  disliked,  as  I  can 
not  help  doing  still.  Demosthenes  I  was  inclined  to  admire, 
but  did  not  know  why,  and  would  very  willingly  have  given 
up  him  and  his  difficulties  together.  Homer  I  regarded 
with  horror,  as  a  series  of  lessons,  which  I  had  to  learn  by 
heart  before  I  understood  him.  "When  I  had  to  conquer,  ir, 
this  way,  lines  which  I  had  not  construed,  I  had  recourse  to 
a  sort  of  artificial  memory,  by  which  I  associated  the  Greek 
words  with  sounds  that  had  a  meaning  in  Enghsh.  Thus, 
a  passage  about  Thetis  I  made  to  bear  on  some  circumstance 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  school.  An  account  of  a  battle 
was  converted  into  a  series  of  jokes ;  and  the  master,  while 
I  was  saying  my  lesson  to  him  in  trepidation,  little  suspected 
what  a  figure  he  was  often  cutting  in  the  text.  The  only 
classic  I  remember  having  any  iove  for  was  Virgil ;  and 
that  was  for  the  episode  of  Nisus  and  Euryalus. 

But  there  were  three  books  which  I  read  in  whenever  1 
could,  and  which  often  got  me  into  trouble.  These  were 
Tooke's  Pantheon,  Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary,  and 
Spence's  Polymctis,  the  great  folio  edition  with  plates. 
Tooke  was  a  prodigious  favorite  with  us.  I  see  before  me, 
as  vividly  now  as  ever,  his  Mars  and  Apollo,  his  Venus  and 
Aurora,  which  I  was  continually  trying  to  copy  ;  the  Mars, 
coming  on  furiously  in  his  car  ;  Apollo,  with  his  radiant 
head,  in  the  midst  of  shades  and  fountains ;   Aurora  with 


EARLY  LOVE  OF  POETRY.  91 

her?,  a  golJcu  dawn  ;  and  Venus,  very  handsome,  we  thought, 
and  not  looking  too  modest,  in  "  a  slight  cymar."  It  is 
curious  how  completely  the  graces  of  the  pagan  theology 
overcame  with  us  the  wise  cautions  and  reproofs  that  vi^ere 
set  against  it  in  the  pages  of  Mr.  Tooke.  Some  years  after 
my  departure  from  school,  happening  to  look  at  the  work  in 
question,  I  was  surprised  to  find  so  much  of  that  matter  in 
him.  When  I  came  to  reflect,  I  had  a  sort  of  recollection 
that  we  used  occasionally  to  notice  it,  as  something  inconsist- 
ent with  the  rest  of  the  text — strange,  and  odd,  and  like  the 
interference  of  some  pedantic  old  gentleman.  This,  indeed, 
is  pretty  nearly  the  case.  The  author  has  also  made  a 
strange  mistake  about  Bacchus,  whom  he  represents,  both  in 
his  text  and  his  print,  as  a  mere  belly-god  ;  a  corpulent  child, 
like  the  Bacchus  bestriding  a  tun.  This  is  any  thing  but 
classical.  The  truth  is,  it  "was  a  sort  of  pious  fraud,  hke 
many  other  things  palmed  upon  antiquity.  Tooke's  Pa7i- 
thcnn  was  written  originally  in  Latin  by  the  Jesuits. 

Our  Lempriere  was  a  fund  of  entertainment.  Spence's 
Polymelis  was  not  so  easily  got  at.  There  was  also  some- 
thing in  the  text  that  did  not  invite  us  ;  but  we  admired  the 
fine  large  prints.  However,  Tooke  was  the  favorite.  I 
cannot  divest  myself  of  a  notion,  to  this  day,  that  there  is 
something  really  clever  in  the  picture  of  Apollo.  The  Mi- 
nerva we  "  could  not  abide  ;"  Juno  was  no  favorite,  for  all 
her  throne  and  her  peacock ;  and  we  thought  Diana  too 
pretty.  The  instinct  against  these  three  godesses  begins 
early.  I  used  to  wonder  how  Juno  and  Minerva  could  have 
the  insolence  to  dispute  the  apple  with  Venus. 

In  those  times,  Cooke's  edition  of  the  British  poets  came 
up.  I  had  got  an  odd  volume  of  Spenser  ;  and  I  fell  passion- 
ately in  love  with  Collins  and  Gray.  How  I  loved  those 
little  sixpenny  numbers  containing  whole  poets  I  I  doated 
on  their  size  ;  I  doated  on  their  type,  on  their  ornaments,  on 
their  wrappers  containing  lists  of  other  poets,  and  on  the 
engravings  from  Kirk.  I  bought  tlieui  over  and  over  again, 
and  used  to  get  up  select  sets,  whicli  disappeared  like  butter- 
ed crumpets  ;  for  I  could  resist  neither  giving  them  away, 
nor  possessing  them.      When  the  master  tormented  me,  when 


92  LIFH  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

I  used  to  hale  and  loathe  the  sight  of  Homer,  and  Demos- 
thenes, and  Cicero,  I  would  comfort  myself  with  thinking  of 
the  sixpence  in  my  pocket,  with  which  I  should  go  out  to 
Paternoster-row,  when  the  school  was  over,  and  buy  an- 
other number  of  an  English  poet. 

I  was  already  fond  of  writing  verses.  The  first  I  re- 
member were  in  honor  of  the  Duke  of  York's  "  Victory  at 
Dunkirk  ;"  which  victory,  to  my  great  mortification,  turned 
out  to  be  a  defeat.  I  compared  him  with  Achilles  and 
Alexander  ;  or  should  rather  say,  trampled  upon  those  heroes 
in  the  comparison.  I  fancied  him  riding  through  the  field, 
and  shooting  right  and  left  of  him  I  Afterward,  when  in 
Great  Erasmus,  I  wrote  a  poem  called  Wmter,  in  conse- 
quence of  reading  Thomson  ;  and  when  Deputy  Grecian,  I 
completed  some  hundred  stanzas  of  another,  called  the  Fairy 
Kin<^,  which  was  to  be  in  emulation  of  Spenser  I  I  also 
wrote  a  long  poem  in  irregular  Latin  verses  (such  as  they 
were),  entitled  Tlior  ;  the  consequence  of  reading  Gray's 
Odes,  and  Mallett's  Northern  Antiquities.  English  verses 
were  the  only  exercise  I  performed  with  satisfaction. 
Themes,  or  prose  essays,  I  wrote  so  badly,  that  the  master 
was  in  the  habit  of  contemptuously  crumpling  them  up  in 
his  hand,  and  calling  out,  "  Here,  children,  there  is  something 
to  amuse  you."  Upon  which  the  servile  part  of  the  boys 
would  jump  up,  seize  the  paper,  and  be  amused  accordingly. 

The  essays  must  have  been  very  absurd,  no  doubt ;  but 
those  who  would  have  tasted  the  ridicule  best,  were  the  last 
to  move.  There  was  an  absurdity  in  giving  us  such  essays 
to  write.  They  w^ere  upon  a  given  subject,  generally  a  moral 
one ;  such  as  ambition,  or  the  love  of  money :  and  the 
regular  process  in  the  manufacture  was  this.  You  wrote 
out  the  subject  very  fairly  at  top,  Cluid  non  mortalia,  &c. 
or  Crcscit  amor  nummi.  Then  the  ingenious  thing  was  to 
repeat  this  apophthegm  in  as  many  words  and  "round-about 
phrases  as  possible  ;  which  took  up  a  good  bit  of  the  paper. 
Then  you  attempted  to  give  a  reason  or  two,  why  amor 
num,mi  was  bad ;  or  on  what  accounts  heroes  ought  to 
eschew  ambition  ;  after  which  naturally  came  a  few  ex- 
amples, got  out  of  Plutarch,  or  the  Selectee  e  Profanis  ;  and 


PLx\YIi\G  WITH  THEMES.  03 

the  happy  moralist  conchided  with  signing  his  name.  Some- 
body speaks  of  schoolboys  going  about  to  one  another  on 
these  occasions,  and  asking  for  "  a  little  sense."      That  was 

not  the  phrase  with   us  ;   it  was  "  a  thought."      "  P , 

can  you  give  me  a  thought  ?"      "  C ,  for  God's  sake, 

help   me  to  a  thought,   ibr  it  only  wants   ten  minutes   to 

eleven."      It  was  a  joke  with  P ,  who  knew  my  hatred 

of  themes,  and  how  I  used  to  hurry  over  them,  to  come  to 
me  at  a  quarter  to  eleven,  and  say,  "  Hunt,  have  you  begun 

your    theme  ?" — "  Yes,    P ."      He     then,    when     the 

rpiarter  of  an  hour  had  expired  and  the  bell  tolled,  came 
again,  and,  with  a  sort  of  rhyming  formula  to  the  other 
question,  said,  "  Hunt,  have  you  done  your  theme  ?" — 
«  Yes,  P ." 

How  I  dared  to  trespass  in  this  way  upon  the  patience 
of  the  master,  I  can  not  conceive.  I  suspect  that  the  themes 
appeared  to  him  more  absurd  than  careless.  Perhaps  an- 
other thing  perplexed  him.  The  master  was  rigidly  ortho- 
dox ;  the  school-establishment  also  was  orthodox  and  high 
tory  ;'  and  there  was  just  then  a  little  perplexity,  arising 
from  the  free  doctrines  inculcated  by  the  books  we  learned, 
and  the  new  and  alarming  echo  of  them  struck  on  the  ears 
of  power  by  the  French  Revolution.  My  father  was  in  the 
habit  of  expressing  his  opinions.  He  did  not  conceal  the 
new  tendency  which  he  felt  to  modify  those  which  ho 
entertained  respecting  both  Church  and  State.  His  uncon- 
scious son  at  school,  nothing  doubting  or  suspecting,  repeated 
his  eulogies  of  Timolcon  and  the  Gracchi,  with  all  a  school- 
boy's enthusiasm  ;  and  the  master's  mind  was  not  of  a  pitch 
to  be  superior  to  this  unwitting  annoyance.  It  was  on  these 
occasions,  I  suspect,  that  he  crumpled  up  my  themes  with 
a  double  contempt,  and  with  an  equal  degree  of  perplexity. 

There  was  a  better  school  exercise,  consisting  of  an 
abridgment  of  some  paper  in  the  Spectator.  We  made, 
however,  little  of  it,  and  thought  it  very  difficult  and  perplex- 
ing. In  fact,  it  was  a  hard  task  for  boys,  utterly  unacquaint- 
ed with  the  world,  to  seize  the  best  points  out  of  the  writings 
of  masters  in  experience.  It  only  gave  the  Spectator  an 
unnatural  gravity  in  our  eyes.      A  common  paper  for  selec- 


91  LIFK  01"  LKIGII  HUNT. 

lion,  because  reckoned  one  oi  ihe  easiest,  was  the  one  begin- 
ning, "  I  have  always  preferred  cheerfuhiess  to  mirth."  I 
had  heard  this  paper  so  often,  and  Avas  so  tired  with  it,  that 
it  gave  me  a  great  incUnation  to  prefer  mirth  to  cheerfuhiess. 
My  books  were  a  never-ceasing  consolation  to  me,  and 
such  they  have  ever  continued.  My  favorites  out  of  school- 
hours,  were  Spenser,  Collins,  Gray,  and  the  Arabian  Nights. 
Pope  I  admired  more  than  loved  ;  Milton  was  above  me  ; 
and  the  only  play  of  Shakspeare's  with  which  I  Avas  con- 
versant was  Hamlet,  of  which  I  had  a  delighted  awe. 
Neither  then,  however,  nor  at  any  time,  have  I  been  as  fond 
of  dramatic  reading  as  of  any  other,  though  I  have  written 
many  dramas  myself,  and  have  even  a  special  propensity  for 
so  doing  ;  a  contradiction,  for  which  T  have  never  been 
able  to  account.  Chaucer,  who  has  since  been  one  of  my 
best  friends,  I  was  not  acquainted  with  at  .school,  nor  till 
long  afterward.  Hiidihras  I  remember  reading  through  at 
one  desperate  plunge,  while  I  lay  incapable  of  moving,  with 
two  scalded  legs.  I  did  it  as  a  sort  of  achievement,  driving 
on  through  the  verses  without  understanding  a  twentieth 
part  of  them,  but  now  and  then  laughing  immoderately  at 
the  rhymes  and  similes,  and  catching  a  bit  of  knowledge 
unawares.  I  had  a  schoolfellow  of  the  name  of  Brooke, 
afterward  an  officer  in  the  East  India  service — a  grave, 
quiet  boy,  with  a  fund  of  manliness  and  good-humor.  He 
would  pick  out  the  ludicrous  couplets,  like  plums  ;  such  as 
those  on  the  astrologer. 

Who  deals  in  destiny's  dark  counsels, 
And  sage  opinions  of  the  moon  sells ; 

And  on  the  apothecary's  shop. 

With  stores  of  deleterious  med'cines, 
Which  whosoever  took  is  dead  since. 

He  had  the  little  thick  duodecimo  edition,  with  Hogarth's 
plates,  dirty,  and  well  read,  looking  like  Hudibras  himself. 

I  read  through,  at  the  same  time,  and  with  little  less 
sense  of  it  as  a  task,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  The  divinity 
of  it  was  so  much  "  Heathen  Greek"  to  us.  Unluckily,  I 
could  not  taste  the  beautiful  "Heathen  Greek"  of  the  style. 


SCALDED  LEGS.  95 

Milton's  heaven  made  no  impression  ;  not  could  I  enter 
even  into  the  earthly  catastrophe  of  his  man  and  woman. 
The  only  two  things  I  thought  of  were  their  happiness  in 
Paradise,  where  (to  me)  they  eternally  remained  ;  and  the 
strange  malignity  of  the  devil,  who,  instead  of  getting  them 
out  of  it,  as  the  poet  represents,  only  served  to  bind  them 
closer.  He  seemed  an  odd  shade  to  the  picture.  The 
figure  he  cut  in  the  engravings  was  more  in  ray  thoughts, 
than  any  thing  said  of  him  in  the  poem.  He  was  a  sort  of 
human  wild  beast,  lurking  about  the  garden  iia  which  they 
lived  ;  though,  in  consequence  of  the  dress  given  him  in 
some  of  the  plates,  this  man  with  a  tail  occasionally  con- 
fused himself  in  my  imagination  with  a  R.oman  general.  I 
could  make  little  of  it.  I  believe,  the  plates  impressed  me 
altogether  much  more  than  the  poem.  Perhaps  they  were 
the  reason  why  I  thought  of  Adam  and  Eve  as  I  did  ;  the 
pictures  of  them  in  their  paradisaical  state  being  more 
numerous  than  those  in  which  they  appear  exiled.  Besides, 
in  their  exile  they  were  together  ;  and  this  constituting  the 
best  thing  in  their  paradise,  I  suppose  I  could  not  so  easily 
get  miserable  with  them  when  out  of  it. 

The  scald  that  I  speak  of,  as  confining  me  to  bed  was  a  bad 
one.  I  will  give  an  account  of  it,  because  it  furthers  the 
elucidation  of  our  school  manners.  I  had  then  become  a 
monitor,  or  one  of  the  chiefe  of  a  ward  ;  and  I  was  sitting 
before  the  fire  one  evening,  after  the  boys  had  gone  to  bed, 
wrapped  up  in  the  perusal  of  the  "  Wonderful  Magazine," 
and  having  in  my  ear  at  the  same  time  the  bubbling  of  a 
great  pot,  or  rather  cauldron,  of  water,  containing  what  was 
by  courtesy  called  a  bread  pudding  ;  being  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  loaf  or  two  of  our.  bread,  which,  with  a  little 
sugar  mashed  up  with  it,  was  to  serve  for  my  supper.  And 
there  were  eyes,  not  yet  asleep,  which  would  look  at  it  out 
of  their  beds,  and  regard  is  as  a  lordly  dish.  From  this 
dream  of  bliss  I  was  roused  up  on  the  sudden  by  a  great 
cry,  and  a  horrible  agony  in  my  legs.  A  "  boy,"  as  a  fag 
was  called,  wishing  to  got  something  from  the  other  side  of 
the  fire-place,  and  not  choosing  cither  to  go  round  behind 
the  table,  or  to  disturb  the   illustrious  legs  of  the  monitor, 


96  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

had  endeavored  to  get  under  them  or  between  them,  and  sc 
pulled  the  great  handle  of  the  pot  after  him.  It  was  a  fright- 
ful sensation.  The  whole  of  my  being  seemed  collected  in 
one  fiery  torment  into  my  legs.  Wood,  the  Grecian  (after- 
ward Fellow  of  Pembroke,  at  Cambridge),  who  was  in  our 
ward,  and  who  was  always  very  kind  to  me  (led,  I  believe, 
by  my  inclination  for  verses,  in  which  he  had  a  great  name), 
came  out  of  his  study,  and  after  helping  me  ofl'  with  my 
stockings,  which  was  a  horrid  operation,  the  stockings,  being 
very  coarse,  took  me  in  his  arms  to  the  sick  ward.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  enchanting  relief  occasioned  by  the  cold  air, 
as  it  blew  across  the  square  of  the  sick  ward.  I  lay  there 
for  several  weeks,  not  allowed  to  move  for  some  time  ;  and 
caustics  became  necessary  before  I  got  well.  The  getting 
well  was  delicious.  I  had  no  tasks — no  master  ;  plenty  of 
books  to  read  ;  and  the  nurse's  daughter  {cibsit  calumnia) 
brought  me  tea  and  buttered  toast,  and  encouraged  me  to 
play  the  flute.  My  playing  consisted  of  a  few  tunes  by 
rote^  my  fellow-invalids  (none  of  them  in  very  desperate 
case)  would  have  it  rather  than  no  playing  at  all ;  so  we 
used  to  play  and  tell  stories,  and  go  to  sleep,  thinking  of  the 
blessed  sick  holiday  we  should  have  to-morrow,  and  of  the 
bowl  of  milk  and  bread  for  breakfast,  which  was  alone  worth 
being  sick  for.  The  sight  of  Mr.  Long's  probe  was  not  so 
pleasant.  We  preferred  seeing  it  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Vin- 
cent, whose  manners,  quiet  and  mild,  had  double  efiect  on  a 
set  of  boys  more  or  less  jealous  of  the  mixed  humbleness  and 
importance  of  their  school.  This  was  most  likely  the  same 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Vincent,  who  afterward  became 
distinguished  in  his  profession.  He  was  dark,  like  a  West 
Indian,  and  I  used  to  think  him  handsome.  Perhaps  the 
nurse's  daughter  taught  me  to  think  so,  for  she  was  a  con* 
eiderablc  observer. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SCHOOL-DAYS  (continued. ) 

Healthy  literaiy  training  of  Christ-Hospital. — Early  friendship. — Early 
love. — St.  James's  Park,  music,  and  war. — President  West  and  his 
house. — The  Thornton  family  and  theirs. — The  Dayrells  and  first  love. 
Early  thoughts  of  religion. — Jews  and  their  synagogues. — Coleridge 
and  Lamb. — A  mysterious  school-fellow. — The  greater  mystery  of 
the  Fazzer. — Mitchell  and  Barnes. — Boatings,  bathings,  and  Lady 
Craven. — Departure  from  school. 

I  AM  grateful  to  Christ- Hos])ital  for  its  having  bred  me 
up  ill  old  cloisters,  for  its  making  me  acquainted  with  the 
languages  of  Homer  and  Ovid,  and  for  its  having  secured 
to  me,  on  the  whole,  a  well-trained  and  cheerful  boyhood. 
It  pressed  no  superstition  upon  me.  It  did  not  hinder  my 
growing  mind  from  making  what  excursions  it  pleased  into 
the  wide  and  healthy  regions  of  general  hterature.  I  might 
buy  as  much  Collins  and  Gray  as  I  pleased,  and  get  novels 
to  my  heart's  content  from-  the  circulating  libraries.  There 
was  nothing  prohibited  but  what  would  have  been  prohibited 
by  all  good  fathers  ;  and  every  thing  was  encouraged  which 
would  have  been  encouraged  by  the  Steelos,  and  Addisons. 
and  Popes ;  by  the  Warburtons,  and  Atlorburys,  and  Hoad- 
Icys.  Boyer  was  a  severe,  nay,  a  cruel  master  ;  but  age  and 
reflection  have  made  me  sensible  that  I  ought  always  to  add 
my  testimony  to  his  being  a  laborious,  and  a  conscientious 
one.  When  his  severity  went  beyond  the  mark,  I  believe 
he  was  always  sorry  for  it  :  sometimes  I  am  sure  he  was. 
He  once  (though  the  anecdote  at  first  sight  may  look  like  a 
burlesque  on  the  remark)  knocked  out  one  of  my  teeth  with 
the  back  of  a  Homer,  in  a  fit  of  impatience  at  my  stammer- 
ing. The  tooth  was  a  loose  one,  and  I  told  liim  as  much  ; 
but  the  blood  ruslied  out  as  I  spoke  :  he  turned  pale,  and,  on 
my  proposing  to  go  out  and  wasii  the  mouth,  he  said,  "  Go, 
child,"  in  a  tone  of  voice  amounting  to  the  paternal.      Now 

VOL    I, — Fi 


98  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

"  go,  child,"  from  Boyer,  was  worth  a  dozen  lender  speeches 
from  any  one  else  ;  and  it  was  felt  that  I  had  got  an  ad- 
vantage over  him,  acknowledged  by  himself. 

If  I  had  reaped  no  other  benefit  from  Christ-Hospital,  the 
school  would  bo  ever  dear  to  me  from  the  recollection  of  the 
friendships  I  farmed  in  it,  and  of  the  first  heavenly  taste  it 
gave  me  of  that  most  spiritual  of  the  affections.  I  use  the 
word  '•heavenly"  advisedly;  and  I  call  friendship  the  most 
spiritual  of  the  afl'ections,  because  even  one's  kindred,  in 
partaking  of  our  flesh  and  blood,  become,  in  a  manner,  mix- 
ed up  with  our  entire  being.  Not  that  I  would  disparage 
any  other  form  of  aflection,  worshiping,  as  I  do,  all  forms  of 
it,  love  in  particular,  which,  in  its  highest  state,  is  friendship 
and  something  more.  But  if  ever  I  tasted  a  disembodied 
transport  on  earth,  it  was  in  those  friendships  which  I  enter- 
tained at  school,  before  I  dreamt  of  any  maturcr  feeling.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  impression  it  first  made  on  me.  I 
loved  my  friend  for  his  gentleness,  his  candor,  his  truth,  his 
good  repute,  his  freedom  even  from  rny  own  livelier  manner, 
his  calm  and  reasonable  kindness.  It  was  not  any  particu- 
lar talent  that  attracted  me  to  him,  or  any  thing  striking 
whatsoever.  I  should  say,  in  one  word,  it  was  his  goodness. 
I  doubt  whether  he  ever  had  a  conception  of  a  tithe  of  the 
regard  and  respect  I  entertained  for  him  ;  and  I  smile  to 
think  of  the  perplexity  (though  he  never  showed  it)  wliich 
he  probably  felt  sometimes  at  ray  enthusiastic  expressions  ; 
for  I  thought  him  a  kind  of  angel.  It  was  no  exaggeration 
to  say,  that,  take  away  the  unspiritual  part  of  it — the  genius 
and  the  knowledge — and  there  is  no  height  of  conceit  indulged 
in  by  the  most  romantic  character  in  Shakspeare,  which  sur- 
passed what  I  felt  toward  the  merits  I  ascribed  to  him,  and 
the  delight  which  I  took  in  his  society.  With  the  other 
boys  I  played  antics,  and  rioted  in  fantastic  jests  ;  but  in  his 
society,  or  whenever  I  thought  of  him,  I  fell  into  a  kind 
of  Sabbath  state  of  bliss  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  could  have  died 
for  him. 

I  experienced  this  dehghtful  ailection  toward  three  suc- 
cessive schoolfellows,  till  two  of  them  had  for  some  time  gone 
out  into  the  world  and  forgotten  me ;   but  it  grew  les,s  with 


EARLY  LOVE.  99 

each,  and  in  more  than  one  instance,  became  rivaled  by  a  new 
set  of  emotions,  especially  in  regard  to  the  last,  for  I  fell  in  love 
with  his  sister — at  least,  I  thought  so.  But  ou  the  occur- 
rence of  her  death,  not  long  after,  I  was  startled  at  finding 
myself  assume  an  air  of  greater  sorrow  than  I  felt,  and  at 
being  willing  to  be  relieved  by  the  sight  of  the  first  pretty 
face  that  turned  toward  ine.  I  was  in  the  situation  of  the 
page  in  Figaro  : 

Ogiii  donna  cangiar  di  colore  ; 
Ogni  donna  mi  fa  palpitar. 

My  friend,  who  died  himself  not  long  after  his  quitting  the 
University,  was  of  a  German  family  in  the  service  of  the 
court,  very  refined  and  musical.  I  likened  them  to  the  peo- 
ple in  the  novels  of  Augustus  La  Fontaine ;  and  with  the 
younger  of  the  two  sisters  I  had  a  gi'cat  desire  to  play  the 
part  of  the  hero  in  the  Family  of  Halclen. 

The  elder,  who  was  my  senior,  and  of  manners  too  ad- 
vanced for  me  to  aspire  to,  became  distinguished  in  private 
circles  as  an  accomplished  musician.  How  I  used  to  rejoice 
when  they  struck  their  "  harps  in  praise  of  Bragela  !"  and 
how  ill-bred  I  must  have  appeared  when  I  stopped  beyond 
all  reasonable  time  of  visiting,  unable  to  tear  myself  away  I 
They  lived  in  Spring  Gardens,  in  a  house  which  I  have 
often  gone  out  of  my  way  to  look  at ;  and,  as  I  first  heard 
of  Mozart  in  their  company,  and  first  heard  his  marches  in 
the  Park,  I  used  to  associate  with  their  idea  whatsoever  was 
charming  and  graceful. 

Maternal  notions  of  war  came  to  nothing  before  love  and 
music,  and  the  ^teps  of  the  officers  on  parade.  The  young 
ensign  with  his  flag,  and  the  ladies  with  their  admiration  of 
him,  carried  every  thing  before  them. 

I  had  already  borne  to  school  the  air  of  "  No)i  piu 
andrai  ;"  and,  with  the  help  of  instruments  made  of  paper, 
into  which  we  breathed  what  imitations  we  could  of  haut- 
boys and  clarionets,  had  inducted  the  boys  into  the  "  pride, 
pomp,  and  circumstance"  of  that  glorious  bit  of  war. 

Thus  is  Avar  clothed  and  recommended  to  all  of  us,  and 
not  without  reason,  as  long  as  it  is  a  necessity,  or  as  long  as 


100  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

it  is  something-,  at  least,  which  we  have  not  acquired  knowl- 
edge or  means  enough  to  do  away  with.  A  bullet  is  of  all 
pills  the  one  that  most  requires  gilding. 

But  I  will  not  bring  these  night-thoughts  into  the  morn- 
ing of  life.  Besides,  I  am  anticipating  ;  for  this  was  not  my 
first  love.      I  shall  mention  that  presently. 

I  have  not  done  with  my  school-reminiscences  ;  but  in 
order  to  keep  a  straightforward  course,  and  notice  simultane- 
ous events  in  their  proper  places,  I  shall  here  speak  of  the 
persons  and  things  in  which  I  took  the  greatest  interest 
when  I  was  not  within  schoolbounds. 

The  two  principal  houses  at  which  I  visited  till  the  ar- 
rival of  our  relations  from  the  West  Indies,  were  Mr.  West's 
(late  President  of  the  Royal  Academy),  in  Newman-street, 
and  Mr.  Godfrey  Thornton's  (of  the  distinguished  city 
family),  in  Austin-Friars.  How  I  loved  the  Graces  in  one 
and  every  thing  in  the  other  I  Mr.  West  (who,  as  I  have 
already  mentioned,  had  married  one  of  my  relations)  had 
bought  his  house,  I  believe,  not  long  after  he  came  to  En- 
gland ;  and  he  had  added  a  gallery  at  the  back  of  it,  ter- 
minating in  a  couple  of  lofty  rooms.  The  gallery  was  a 
continuation  of  the  house-passage,  and,  together  with  one  of 
those  rooms  and  the  parlor,  formed  three  sides  of  a  garden, 
very  small  but  elegant,  with  a  grass-plot  in  the  middle,  and 
busts  upon  stands  under  an  arcade.  The  gallery,  as  you 
went  up  it,  formed  an  angle  at  a  little  distance  to  the  left, 
then  another  to  the  right,  and  then  took  a  longer  stretch  into 
the  two  rooms  ;  and  it  was  hung  Avith  the  artist's  sketches 
all  the  way.  In  a  corner  between  the  two  angles  was 
a  study-door  with  casts  of  Venus  and  Apollo,  on  each  side 
of  it.  The  two  rooms  contained  the  largest  of  his  pic- 
tures ;  and  in  the  farther  one,  after  stepping  softly  down  the 
gallery,  as  if  reverencing  the  dumb  life  on  the  walls,  you 
generally  found  the  mild  and  quiet  artist  at  his  work  ;  happy, 
for  he  thought  himself  immortal. 

I  need  not  enter  into  the  merits  of  an  artist  who  is  so 
well  known,  and  has  been  so  often  criticised.  He  was  a 
man  with  regular,  mild  features  ;  and,  though  of  Quaker 
origin,  had  the  look  of  what  he  was,  a  painter  to  a  court. 


WEST  THE  ARTIST.  101 

His  appcaraucu  was  so  gentlemanly,  that,  the  moment  he 
changed  his  gown  for  a  coat,  he  seemed  to  be  full-dressed. 
The  simplicity  and  self-possession  of  the  young  Quaker,  not 
having  time  enough  to  grow  stiff  (for  he  went  early  to  study 
at  Rome),  took  up,  I  suppose,  with  more  ease  than  most 
would  have  done,  the  urbanities  of  his  new  position.  And 
what  simplicity  helped  him  to,  favor  would  retain.  Yet  this 
man,  so  well  bred,  and  so  indisputably  clever  in  his  art 
(whatever  might  be  the  amount  of  his  genius),  had  received 
so  careless,  or  so  homely  an  education  when  a  boy,  that  he 
could  hardly  read.  He  pi-ondunced  also  some  of  his  words, 
in  reading,  with  a  jjuritanical  barbarism,  such  as  halve  for 
have,  as  some  people  pronounce  when  they  sing  psalms. 
But  this  was  perhaps  an  American  custom.  My  mother, 
who  both  read  and  spoke  remarkably  well,  would  say 
halve,  and  sJiaul  (for  shall),  when  she  sung  her  hymns. 
But  it  was  not  so  well  in  reading  lectures  at  the  Academy. 
Mr.  West  would  talk  of  his  art  all  day  long,  painting  all  the 
while.  On  other  subjects  he  was  not  so  fluent ;  and  on 
political  and  religious  matters  he  tried  hard  to  maintain  the 
reserve  common  with  those  about  a  court.  He  succeeded 
ill  in  both.  There  were  always  strong  suspicions  of  his 
leaning  to  his  native  side  in  politics  ;  and  during  Bonaparte's 
triumph,  he  could  not  contain  his  enthusiasm  for  the  Repub- 
lican chief,  going  even  to  Paris  to  pay  him  his  homage, 
when  First  Consul.  The  admiration  of  high  colors  and 
powerful  effects,  natural  to  a  painter,  was  too  strong  for  him. 
How  he  managed  this  matter  with  the  higher  poAvers  in 
England  I  can  not  say.  Probably  he  was  the  less  heedful, 
inasmuch  as  he  was  not  very  carefully  paid.  I  believe  he 
did  a  great  deal  for  George  the  Third  with  little  profit. 
Mr.  West  certainly  kept  his  love  for  Bonaparte  no  secret ; 
and  it  was  no  wonder,  for  the  latter  expressed  admiration  of 
his  pictures.  The  artist  thought  the  conqueror's  smile  en- 
chanting, and  that  he  had  the  handsomest  leg  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  was  present  when  the  "  Venus  dc  Medicis"'  was 
talked  of,  the  French  having  just  taken  possession  of  her. 
Bonaparte,  Mr.  West  said,  turned  round  to  those  about  him, 
and  said,  with  his  eyes  lit  up,  "  She's  coming  I"  as  if  he  had 


102  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

been  talking  of  a  living  person.  I  believe  he  retained  for 
the  emperor  the  love  that  he  had  had  for  the  First  Consul, 
a  wedded  love,  "  for  better  for  worse."  However,  I.  believe 
also  that  he  retained  it  after  the  Emperor's  downfall ;  which 
is  not  what  every  painter  did. 

But  I  am  getting  out  of  my  chronology.  The  quiet  of 
Mr.  West's  gallery,  the  tranquil,  intent  beauty  of  the  statues, 
and  the  subjects  of  some  of  the  pictures,  particularly  Death 
on  the  Pale  Horse,  the  Deluge,  the  Scotch  King  hunting  the 
Stag,  Moses  on  Mount  Sinai,  Christ  healing  the  Sick  (a 
sketch),  Sir  Philip  Sidney  giving  up  the  water  to  the  Dying 
Soldier,  the  Installation  of  the  Knights  of  the  Garter,  and 
Ophelia  before  the  King  and  Queen  (one  of  the  best  things 
he  ever  did),  made  a  great  impression  upon  me.  My  mothei 
and  I  used  to  go  down  the  gallery,  as  if  we  were  treadinji 
on  wool.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  stopping  to  look  at  some 
of  the  pictures,  particularly  the  Deluge  and  the  Ophelia, 
with  a  countenance  quite  awe-stricken.  She  used  also  to 
point  out  to  me  the  subjects  relating  to  liberty  and  patriot- 
ism, and  the  domestic  affections.  Agrippina  bringing  homo 
the  ashes  of  Germanicus  was  a  great  favorite  with  her.  1 
remember,  too,  the  awful  delight  aflbrded  us  by  the  Angel 
.slaying  the  army  of  Sennacherib  ;  a  bright  figure  lording  it 
in  the  air,  with  a  chaos  of  human  beings  below. 

As  Mr.  West  was  almost  sure  to  be  found  at  work,  in 
the  farthest  room,  habited  in  his  white  woolen  gown,  so  you 
might  have  predicated,  with  equal  certainty,  that  Mrs.  West 
was  sitting  in  the  parlor,  reading.  I  used  to  think,  that  if 
I  had  such  a  parlor  to  sit  in,  I  should  do  just  as  she  did.  It 
was  a  good-sized  room,  with  two  windows  looking  out  on  the 
little  garden  I  spoke  of,  and  opening  to  it  from  one  of  them 
by  a  flight  of  steps.  The  garden  with  its  busts  in  it,  and 
the  pictures  which  you  knew  were  on  the  other  side  of  its 
wall,  had  an  Italian  look.  The  room  was  hung  with  en- 
gravings and  colored  prints.  Among  them  Avas  the  Lion 
Hunt,  from  Pwubens;  the  Hierarchy  with  the  Godhead,  from 
Raphael,  which  I  hardly  thought  it  right  to  look  at ;  and 
two  screens  by  the  fireside,  containing  prints  (from  Angelica 
Kauflinan,  I  think,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  Mr.  West  him- 


MRS.  WEST.  103 

self  was  not  tlio  designer)  of  the  Loves  of  Angelica  and 
Medoro,  which  I  could  hav^e  looked  at  from  morning  to 
night.  Angelica's  intent  eyes,  I  thought,  had  the  best  of 
it;  but  I  thought  so  without  knowing  why.  This  gave 
me  a  love  for  Ariosto  before  I  knew  him.  I  got  Hoole's 
translation,  but  could  make  nothing  of  it.  Angelica  KaufT- 
man  seemed  to  me  to  have  done  much  more  for  her  name- 
sake. She  could  see  farther  into  a  pair  of  eyes  than  Mr. 
Hoole  with  his  spectacles.  This  reminds  me  that  I  could 
make  as  little  of  Pope's  Homer,  which  a- schoolfellow  of 
mine  was  always  reading,  and  which  1  was  ashamed  of 
not  being  able  to  like.  It  was  not  that  I  did  not  admire 
Pope  ;  but  the  words  in  his  translation  always  took  pre- 
cedence in  my  mind  of  the  things,  and  the  unvarying  sweet- 
ness of  his  versification  tired  me  before  I  knew  the  reason. 
This  did  not  hinder  me  afterward  from  trying  to  imitate 
it;  nor  from  succeeding;  that  is  to  say  as  far  as  every 
body  else  succeeds,  and  writing  smooth  verses.  It  is  Pope's 
wit  and  closeness  that  are  the  difficult  things,  and  that  make 
him  what  he  is  ;  a  truism,  which  the  mistai  es  of  critics  on 
divers  sides  have  made  it  but  too  warrantable  to  repeat. 

Mrs.  West  and  my  mother  used  to  talk  of  old  times,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  my  father's  prospects  at  court.  I  sat  apart 
with  a  book,  from  which  I  stole  glances  at  Angelica.  I  had 
a  habit  at  that  time  of  holding  my  breath,  which  forced  me 
every  now  and  then  to  take  long  sighs.  My  aunt  would 
oficr  me  a  bribe  not  to  sigh.  I  would  earn  it  once  or  twice  ; 
but  the  sighs  were  sure  to  return.  These  wagers  I  did  not 
care  for  ;  but  I  remember  being  greatly  mortified  when  Mr. 
West  oflercd  me  half-a-crown  if  I  Avould  solve  the  old  ques- 
tion of  "  Who  was  the  father  of  Zebcdee's  children  ?"  and  J 
could  not  tell  him.  He  never  made  his  appearance  till  din- 
ner, and  returned  to  his  painting  room  directly  after  it.  And 
so  at  tea-time.  The  talk  Avas  very  quiet ;  the  neighborhood 
quiet ;  the  servants  quiet ;  I  thought  the  very  squirrel  in  the 
cage  would  have  made  a  greater  noise  any  where  else.  James 
the  porter,  a  fine  tall  fellow,  who  figured  in  his  master's  pic- 
tures as  an  apostle,  was  as  quiet  as  he  was  strong.  Stand- 
ing for  his  picture  had  become  a  sort  of  religion  with  him. 


'04  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Even  the  butler,  with  his  little  twinkling  eyes,  full  of  pleas- 
ant conceit,  vented  his  notions  of  himself  in  half  tones  and 
whispers.  This  was  a  strange  fantastic  person.  He  got  my 
brother  Robert  to  take  a  likeness  of  him,  small  enough  to  be 
contained  in  a  shirt  pin.  It  was  thought  that  his  twinkling 
eyes,  albeit  not  young,  had  some  fair  cynosure  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. What  was  my  brother's  amazement,  when,  the 
next  time  he  saw  him,  the  butler  said,  with  a  face  of  en- 
chanted satisfaction,  "  Well,  sir,  you  see  I"  making  a  move- 
ment at  the  same  time  with  the  frill  at  his  waistcoat.  The 
miniature  that  was  to  be  given  to  the  object  of  his  affections, 
had  been  given  accordingly.      It  was  in  his  own  bosom. 

But,  notwithstanding  my  delight  with  the  house  at  the 
west  end  of  the  toAvn,  it  was  not  to  compare  with  my  be- 
loved one  in  the  city.  There  was  quiet  in  the  one  ;  there 
were  beautiful  statues  and  pictures  ;  and  there  was  my  An- 
gelica for  me  with  her  intent  eyes,  at  the  fireside.  But  be- 
sides quiet  in  the  other,  there  was  cordiality,  and  there  was 
music,  and  a  family  brimful  of  hospitality  and  good-nature, 
and  dear  Almeria  T.  (now  Mrs.  V e),  who  in  vain  pre- 
tends that  she  has  become  aged,  which  is  what  she  never 
did,  shall,  would,  might,  should,  or  could  do.  Those  were 
indeed  holidays,  on  which  I  used  to  go  to  Austin-Friars. 
The  house  (such,  at  least,  are  my  boyish  recollections)  was 
of  the  description  I  have  been  ever  fondest  of,  large,  rambling, 
old-fashioned,  soHdly  built,  resembling  the  mansions  about 
Highgate  and  other  old  villages. 

It  was  furnished  as  became  the  house  of  a  rich  merchant 
and  a  sensible  man,  the  comfort  predominating  over  the  cost- 
liness. At  the  back  was  a  garden  with  a  lawn  ;  and  a  pri- 
vate door  opened  into  another  garden,  belonging  to  the  Com- 
pany of  Drapers  ;  so  that,  what  with  the  secluded  nature  of 
the  street  itself,  and  these  verdant  places  behind  it,  it  was 
truly  ms  i?i  urbe,  and  a  retreat.  When  I  turned  down  the 
archway,  I  held  my  mother's  hand  tighter  with  pleasure, 
and  was  full  of  expectation,  and  joy,  and  respect.  My  first 
delight  Avas  in  mounting  the  staircase  to  the  rooms  of  the 
young  ladies,  setting  my  eyes  on  the  comely  and  bright 
countenance  of  my  fair  friend,  with  her  romantic  name,  and 


ALMERIA  THORNTON.  105 

turning  over  for  the  hundredth  time,  the  books  in  her  hbrary. 
What  she  did  with  the  volumes  of  the  Turkish  Spy,  what 
they  meant,  or  what  amusement  she  could  extract  from  them, 
was  an  eternal  mystification  to  me.  Not  long  ago,  meeting 
with  a  copy  of  the  book  accidentally,  I  pounced  upon  my  old 
acquaintance,  and  found  him  to  contain  better  and  mor^ 
amusing  stufl"  than  people  would  suspect  from  his  dry  look 
and  his  obsolete  politics.* 

The  face  of  tenderness  and  respect  with  which  Almeria 
used  to  welcome  my  mother,  springing  forward  with  her  fine 
buxom  figure  to  supply  the  strength  which  the  other  wanted, 
and  showing  what  an  equality  of  love  there  may  be  between 
youth  and  middle-age,  and  rich  and  poor,  I  should  never 
cease  to  love  her  for,  had  she  not  been,  as  she  was,  one  of 
the  best-natured  persons  in  the  world  in  every  thing.  I  have 
not  seen  her  now  for  a  great  many  years  ;  but,  with  that 
same  face,  whatever  change  she  may  pretend  to  find  in  it, 
she  will  go  to  heaven  ;  for  it  is  the  face  of  her  spirit.  A 
good  heart  never  grows  old. 

Of  George  T ,   her  brother,   who  will   pardon  this 

omission  of  his  worldly  titles,  whatever  they  may  be,  I  have 
a  similar  kind  of  recollection,  in  its  proportion  ;  for,  though 
we  knew  him  thoroughly,  we  saw  him  less.  The  sight  of 
his  face  was  an  additional  sunshine  to  my  holiday,  lie 
was  very  generous  and  handsome-minded  ;  a  genuine  human 
being. 

Mrs.  T ,  the  mother,  a  very  lady-like  woman,  in  a 

delicate  state  of  health,  we  usually  found  reclining  on  a  sofa, 
always  ailing,  but  always  with  a  smile  for  us.  The  fatlier, 
a  man  of  a  large  habit  of  body,  panting  with  asthma,  whom 
we  seldom  saw  but  at  dinner,  treated  us  with  all  the  family 
delicacy,  and  would  have  me  come  and  sit  next  him,  which 
I  did  with  a  mixture  of  joy  and  dread  ;  for  it  was  pamful 
to  hear  him  breathe.      I  dwell  the  more  upon  these  atten- 

*  The  Turkish  Spy  is  a  sort  of  philosophical  newspaper,  in  vol- 
umes ;  and,  under  a  mask  of  bigotry,  speculates  very  freely  on  all 
subjects.  It  is  said  to  have  been  written  by  an  Italian  Jesuit  of  the 
name  of  Jlarana.  The  first  volume  has  been  attributed,  however,  to 
Sir  Roger  Manley,  father  of  the  author  of  the  Alalanlis  ;  and  the  rest 
to  Dr.  Midgeley,  a  friend  of  his. 


lOG  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

tions,  because  the  school  that  I  was  in  held  a  sort  of  equiv- 
ocal rank  in  point  of  what  is  called  respectability  ;  and  it 
was  no  less  an  honor  to  another,  than  to  ourselves,  to  know 
when  to  place  us  upon  a  liberal  footing.  Young  as  I  was. 
I  felt  this  point  strongly  ;  and  was  touched  with  as  grateful 
a  tenderness  toward  those  who  treated  me  handsomely,  as 
I  retreated  inwardly  upon  a  proud  consciousness  of  my 
Greek  and  Latin,  when  the  supercilious  would  have  hum- 
bled me.  Blessed  J'ousp  I  May  a  blessing  be  upon  your 
rooms,  and  your  lawn,  and  your  neigliboring  garden,  and 
the  quiet  old  monastic  name  of  your  street  I  and  may  it 
never  be  a  thoroughfare  I  and  may  all  your  inmates  be 
happy  I  Would  to  God  one  could  renew,  at  a  moment's 
notice,  the  happy  hours  we  have  enjoyed  in  past  times,  with 
the  same  circles,  and  in  the  same  houses  I  A  planet  Avith 
such  a  privilege  would  be  a  great  lift  nearer  heaven.  What 
prodigious  evenings,  reader,  we  would  have  of  it  I  What 
fine  pieces  of  childhood,  of  youth,  of  manhood — ay,  and  of 
age,  as  long  as  our  friends  lasted. 

The  old  gentleman  in  Gil  Bias,  who  complained  that  the 
peaches  were  not  so  fine  as  they  used  to  be  when  he  was 
young,  had  more  reason  than  appears  on  the  face  of  it.  He 
missed  not  only  his  former  palate,  but  the  places  he  ate  them 
in,  and  those  who  ate  them  with  him.  I  have  been  told, 
that  the  cranberries  I  have  met  with  since  must  have  been 
as  fine  as  those  I  got  with  the  T.'s  ;  as  large  and  as  juicy  ; 
and  that  they  came  from  the  same  place.  For  all  that,  I 
never  ate  a  cranberry-tart  since  I  dined  in  Austin-Friars. 

I  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  A.  T ,  had  I  been 

old  enough.  As  it  was,  my  first  flame,  or  my  first  notion 
of  a  flame,  which  is  the  same  thing  in  those  days,  was  for 
my  giddy  cousin  Fanny  Dayrell,  a  charming  West  Indian. 
Her  mother,  the  aunt  I  spoke  of,  had  just  come  from  Barba- 
does  with  her  two  daughters  and  a  sister.  She  was  a 
woman  of  a  princely  spirit ;  and  having  a  good  property,  and 
every  wish  to  make  her  relations  more  comfortable,  she  did 
so.  It  became  holiday  with  us  all.  My  mother  raised  her 
head ;  my  father  grew  young  again ;  my  cousin  Kate 
(Christina  rather,  for  her  name  was  not  Catherine  ;   Chris- 


HOW  TO  MAKE  TRUSTWORTHINESS.  107 

tina  Arabella  was  her  name)  conceived  a  regard  for  one  of 
my  brothers,  and  married  him  ;  and  for  my  part,  besides 
my  pictm'es  and  Italian  garden  at  Mr.  West's,  and  my  be- 
loved old  English  house  in  Austin-Friars,  I  had  now  another 
paradise  in  Great  Ormond-street. 

My  aunt  had  something  of  the  West  Indian  pride,  but  all 
in  a  good  spirit,  and  was  a  mighty  cultivator  of  the  gentili- 
ties, inward  as  well  as  outward.  I  did  not  dare  to  appear 
before  her  with  dirty  hands,  she  would  have  rebuked  me  so 
handsomely.  For  some  reason  or  other,  the  marriage  of  my 
brother  and  his  cousin  was  kept  secret  a  little  while.  I 
became  acquainted  with  it  by  chance,  coming  in  upon  a 
holiday,  the  day  the  ceremony  took  place.  Instead  of  keep- 
ing me  out  of  the  secret  by  a  trick,  they  very  wisely  resolved 
upon  trusting  me  with  it,  and  relying  upon  my  honor.  My 
honor  happened  to  be  put  to  the  test,  and  I  came  off  with 
flying  colors.  It  is  to  this  circumstance  I  trace  the  relig- 
ious idea  I  have  ever  since  entertained  of  keeping  a  secret. 
I  went  v/ith  the  bride  and  bridegroom  to  church,  and 
remember  kneeling  apart  and  weeping  bitterly.  My  tears 
were  unaccountable  to  them.  Doubtless  they  were  owing 
to  an  instinctive  sense  of  the  great  change  that  was  taking- 
place  in  the  lives  of  two  human  beings,  and  of  the  unalter- 
ableness  of  the  engagement.  Death  and  Life  seem  to  come 
together  on  these  occasions,  like  awful  guests  at  a  feast,  and 
look  one  another  in  the  face. 

It  was  not  with  such  good  effect  that  my  aunt  raised  my 
notions  of  a  schoolboy's  pocket-money  to  half-crowns,  and 
crowns,  and  half  guineas.  My  father  and  mother  were  both 
as  generous  as  daylight  ;  but  they  could  not  give  what  they 
had  not.  I  had  been  unused  to  spending,  and  accordingly 
I  spent  with  a  vengeance.  I  remember  a  ludicrous  instance. 
The  first  half-guinea  that  I  received  brought  about  me  a 
consultation  of  companions  to  know  how  to  get  rid  of  it. 
One  shilling  was  devoted  to  pears,  another  to  apples,  another 
to  cakes,  and  so  on,  all  to  be  bought  immediately,  as  they 
were  ;  till  coming  to  the  sixpence,  and  being  struck  with  a 
recollection  that  I  ought  to  do  something  useful  with  that, 
I  bought  sixpenn'orth  of  shoe-strings  :  these,  no  doubt,  van- 


JOS  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ished  like  the  rest.  The  next  half-jruinea  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  master :  he  interfered,  which  was  one  of 
his  proper  actions  ;  and  my  aunt  practiced  more  self-denial 
in  future. 

Our  new  family  from  abroad  were  true  West  Indians,  or, 
as  they  would  have  phrased  it,  "  true  Barbadians  born." 
They  were  generous,  warm  tempered,  had  great  good-nature  , 
were  proud,  but  not  unpleasantly  so  ;  lively,  yet  indolent ; 
temperately  epicurean  in  their  diet ;  fond  of  company,  and 
dancing,  and  music  ;  and  lovers  of  show,  but  far  from  with- 
holding the  substance.  I  speak  chiefly  of  the  mother  and 
daughters.  My  other  aunt,  an  elderly  maiden,  who  piqued 
herself  on  the  delicacy  of  her  hands  and  ankles,  and  made 
you  understand  how  many  suitors  she  had  refused  (for  which 
she  expressed  any  thing  but  repentance,  being  extremely 
vexed),  was  not  deficient  in  complectional  good-nature  ;  but 
she  was  narrow-minded,  and  seemed  to  care  for  nothing  in 
the  world  but  two  tilings  :  first,  for  her  elder  niece  Kate, 
whom  she  had  helped  to  nurse  ;  and  second,  for  a  becoming 
set-out  of  coffee  and  buttered  toast,  particularly  of  a  morn- 
ing, when  it  was  taken  up  to  her  in  bed,  with  a  suitable 
equipage  of  silver  and  other  necessaries  of  life.  Yes  ;  there 
was  one  more  indispensable  thing — slavery.  It  was  fright- 
ful to  hear  her  small  mouth  and  little  mincing  tones  assert 
the  necessity  not  only  of  slaves,  but  robust,  corporal  punish- 
ment to  keep  them  to  their  duty.  But  she  did  this,  because 
her  want  of  ideas  could  do  no  other\vi.se.  Having  had  slaves, 
she  wondered  how  any  body  could  object  to  so  natural  and 
lady-like  an  establishment.  Late  in  life,  she  took  to  fancying 
that  every  pohte  old  gentleman  was  in  love  with  her  ;  and 
thus  she  lived  on,  till  her  dying  moment,  in  a  flutter  of 
expectation. 

The  black  servant  must  have  puzzled  this  aunt  of  mine 
sometimes.  All  the  wonder  of  which  she  was  capable,  he 
certainly  must  have  roused,  not  without  a  "  quaver  of  con- 
sternation." This  man  had  come  over  with  them  from  the 
West  Indies.  He  was  a  slave  on  my  aunt's  estate,  and  as 
such  he  demeaned  himself,  till  he  learned  that  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  a  slave  in  Englmid  ;   tliat  the  moment  a  man 


HOLIDAYS  AT  MERTON.  10& 

set  his  foot  on  English  ground,  he  was  free.  I  can  not  help 
smiling  to  think  of  the  bewildered  astonishment  into  which 
his  first  overt  act  in  consequence  of  this  knowledge,  must 
have  put  my  poor  aunt  Courthope  (for  that  was  her  Christian 
name).  Most  likely  it  broke  out  in  the  shape  of  some  re- 
monstrance about  his  fellow-servants.  He  partook  of  the 
pride  common  to  all  the  Barbadians,  black  as  well  as  white ; 
and  the  maid-servants  tormented  him.  I  remember  his  com- 
ing up  in  the  parlor  one  day,  and  making  a  ludicrous  repre- 
sentation of  the  affronts  put  upon  his  office  and  person,  in- 
terspersing his  chattering  and  gesticulations  with  explanatory 
dumb  show.  One  of  them  was  a  pretty  girl,  who  had  ma- 
noiuvred  till  she  got  him  stuck  in  a  corner  ;  and  he  insisted 
upon  telling  us  all  that  she  said  and  did.  His  respect  for 
himself  had  naturally  increased  since  he  became  free  ;  but 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it.  Poor  Samuel  was  not 
ungenerous,  after  his  fashion.  He  also  wished,  with  his  free- 
dom, to  acquire  a  freeman's  knowledge,  but  stuck  fast  at  pot- 
hooks and  hangers.  To  frame  a  written  B  he  pronounced  a 
thing  impossible.  Of  his  powers  on  the  violin  he  made  us 
more  sensible,  not  without  frequent  remonstrances,  which  it 
must  have  taken  all  my  aunt's  good-nature  to  make  her  re- 
peat. He  had  left  two  wives  in  Barbadoes,  one  of  whom 
was  brought  to  bed  of  a  son  a  little  after  he  came  away. 
For  this  son  he  Avanted  a  name,  that  was  new,  sounding, 
and  long.  They  referred  him  to  the  reader  of  Homer  and 
Virgil.  With  classical  names  he  was  well  acquainted.  Mars 
and  Venus  being  among  his  most  intimate  friends,  besides 
Jupiters  and  Adonises,  and  Dianas  with  large  famihes.  At 
length  we  succeeded  with  Neoptolemus.  He  said  he  had 
never  heard  it  before  ;  and  he  made  me  write  it  for  him  in  a 
great  text  hand,  that  there  might  be  no  mistake. 

My  aunt  took  a  country-house  at  Merton,  in  Surrey, 
where  I  passed  three  of  the  happiest  weeks  of  my  life.  It 
was  the  custom  at  our  school,  in  those  days,  to  allow  us  only 
one  set  of  unbroken  holidays  during  the  whole  time  we  were 
there — I  mean,  holidays  in  which  we  remained  away 
from  school  by  night  as  well  as  by  day.  The  period  was 
always  in  August.      Imagine  a  schoolboy  passionately  fond 


flO  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

of  llie  green  fielcls,  who  had  never  slept  oul  of  the  heart  of 
the  city  for  years.  It  was  a  compensation  even  for  the  pang 
of  leaving  my  friend  ;  and  then  what  letters  I  would  write 
to  hirn.  And  what  letters  I  did  write  !  What  full  measure 
of  aflt'ction  pressed  down,  and  running  over  I  I  read,  walk- 
ed, had  a  garden  and  orchard  to  run  in  ;  and  fields  that  1 
could  have  rolled  in,  to  have  my  will  of  ihcm. 

My  father  accompanied  me  to  Wimhledon  to  see  Home 
Tooke,  who  patted  me  on  tlie  head.  I  felt  very  differently 
under  his  hand,  and  under  that  of  the  bishop  of  Loudon, 
when  he  confirmed  a  crowd  of  us  in  St.  Paul's.  Not  that 
I  thought  of  irolitics,  though  I  had  a  sense  of  his  being  a 
patriot ;  but  patriotism,  as  well  as  every  thing  else,  was 
connected  in  my  mind  with  something  classical,  and  Home 
Tooke  held  his  political  reputation  with  me  by  the  same 
tenure  that  he  held  his  fame  for  learning  and  grammatical 
knowledge.  "  The  learned  Home  Tooke"  was  the  designa- 
tion by  which  I  styled  him  in  some  verses  I  wrote  ;  in  which 
verses,  by  the  way,  with,  a  poetical  license  which  would  have 
been  thought  more  classical  by  Queen  Elizabeth  than  my 
master,  I  called  my  aunt  a  "  nymph."  In  the  ceremony  of 
confirmation  by  the  bishop,  there  was  something  too  official, 
and  like  a  dispatch  of  business,  to  excite  my  veneration. 
JVIy  head  only  anticipated  the  coming  of  his  hand,  with  a 
thrill  in  the  scalp  :   and  when  it  came,  it  tickled  me. 

My  cousins  had  the  celebrated  Dr.  Calcott  for  a  music- 
master.  The  doctor,  who  was  a  scholar  and  a  great  reader, 
was  so  pleased  with  me  one  day  for  being  able  to  translate 
the  beginning  of  Xenophon's  Anabasis  (one  of  our  school- 
books),  that  he  took  me  out  with  him  to  Nunn's  the  book- 
seller's in  Great  Queen-street,  and  made  me  a  present  of 
Schrevelius's  Lexicon."  AVhen  he  came  down  to  Merton, 
he  let  me  ride  his  horse.  "W^hat  days  were  those  I  Instead 
of  being  roused  against  my  will  by  a  bell,  I  jumped  up  with 
the  lark,  and  strolled  "  out  of  bounds."  Instead  of  bread 
and  water  for  breakfast,  I  had  coflee  and  tea,  and  buttered 
toast :  for  dinner,  not  a  hunk  of  bread  and  a  modicum  of 
hard  meat,  or  a  bowl  of  pretended  broth  ;  but  fish,  and  fowl, 
and  noble  hot  joints,  and  puddings,  and  sweets,  and  Guava 


A  NA.IAD  OF  THE  RIVER  WANDLE.  Ill 

jellies,  and  other  West  Indian  mysteries  of  peppers  and  pre- 
serves, and  wine  ;  and  then  I  had  tea  ;  and  I  sat  up  to  sup- 
per like  a  man,  and  lived  so  well,  that  I  might  have  been 
very  ill,  had  I  not  run  about  all  the  rest  of  the  day. 

My  strolls  about  the  fields  with  a  book  were  full  of  hap' 
piness  !  only  my  dress  used  to  get  me  stared  at  by  the  villa- 
gers. Walking  one  day  by  the  little  river  Wandle,  I  came 
upon  one  of  the  loveliest  girls  I  ever  beheld,  standing  in  the 
water  with  bare  legs,  washing  some  linen.  She  turned  as 
she  was  stooping,  and  showed  a  blooming  oval  face  with  blue 
eyes,  on  either  side  of  which  flowed  a  profusion  of  flaxen 
locks.  With  the  exception  of  the  color  of  the  hair,  it  was 
like  Raphael's  own  head  turned  into  a  peasant  girl's.  The 
eyes  were  full  of  gentle  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  me  ; 
and  mine  must  have  wondered  no  less.  However,  I  was 
prepared  for  such  wonders.  It  was  only  one  of  my  poetical 
visions  realized,  and  I  expected  to  find  the  world  full  of 
them.  What  she  thought  of  my  blue  skirts  and  yellow 
stockings,  is  not  so  clear.  She  did  not,  however,  taunt  me 
with  my  "  petticoats,"  as  the  girls  in  the  streets  of  London 
would  do,  making  me  blush,  as  I  thought  they  ought  to  have 
done  instead.  My  beauty  in  the  brook  was  too  gentle  and 
diffident ;  at  least  I  thought  so,  and  my  own  heart  did  not 
contradict  me.  I  then  took  every  beauty  for  an  Arcadian, 
and  every  brook  for  a  fairy  stream  ;  and  the  reader  would 
be  surprised,  if  he  knew  to  what  an  extent  I  have  a  similar 
tendency  still.      I  find  the  same  possibilities  by  another  path. 

I  do  not  remember  whether  an  Abbe  Paris,  who  taught 
my  cousins  French,  used  to  see  them  in  the  country  ;  but  I 
never  shall  forget  him  in  Ormond-street.  He  was  an  emi- 
grant, very  gentlemanly,  with  a  face  of  remarkable  benignity, 
and  a  voice  that  became  it.  He  spoke  English  in  a  slow 
manner,  that  was  very  graceful.  I  shall  never  forget  his 
saying  one  day  in  answer  to  somebody  who  pressed  him  on 
the  subject,  and  in  the  mildest  of  tones,  that  without  doubt 
it  was  impossible  to  be  saved  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Catholic 
Church. 

One  contrast  of  this  sort  reminds  me  of  another.  My 
aunt  Courthope  had  something  growing  out  on  one  of  her 


112  LIFE  OF  LEIGFI  HUNT. 

laiucklcs,  which  she  was  afraid  to  let  a  surf^eon  look  at. 
There  was  a  Dr.  Chapman,  a  West  Indian  physician,  who 
came  to  see  us,  a  person  of  great  suavity  of  manners,  with 
all  that  air  of  languor  and  want  of  energy  which  the  West 
Indians  often  exhibit.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  inquiring, 
with  the  softest  voice  in  the  world,  how  my  aunt's  hand 
was  ;  and  coming  one  day  upon  us  in  the  midst  of  dinner, 
and  sighing  forth  his  usual  question,  she  gave  it  him  over 
her  shoulder  to  look  at.  In  a  moment  she  shrieked,  and  the 
swelling  was  gone.  The  meekest  of  doctors  had  done  it 
away  with  his  lancet. 

I  had  no  drawback  on  my  felicity  at  Merton,  with  the 
exception  of  an  occasional  pang  at  my  friend's  absence,  and 
a  new  vexation  that  surprised  and  mortified  me.  I  had 
been  accustomed  at  school  to  sleep  with  sixty  boys  in  the 
room,  and  some  old  night  fears  that  used  to  haunt  me  were 
lorgot'ten.  No  Mantichoras  there  I — no  old  men  crawling 
on  the  floor  I  What  was  my  chagrin,  when  on  sleeping 
alone,  after  so  long  a  period,  I  found  my  terrors  come  back 
again  I — not,  indeed,  in  all  the  same  shapes.  Beasts  could 
frighten  me  no  longer  ;  but  I  was  at  the  mercy  of  any  other 
ghastly  fiction  that  presented  itself  to  my  mind,  crawling  or 
ramping.  I  struggled  hard  to  say  nothing  about  it ;  but  my 
days  began  to  be  discolored  with  fears  of  my  nights  ;  and 
with  unutterable  humiliation  I  begged  that  the  footman 
might  be  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  same  room.  Luckily,  my 
request  was  attended  to  in  the  kindest  and  most  reconciling 
manner.  I  was  pitied  for  my  fears,  but  praised  for  my  can- 
dor— a  balance  of  qualities  which,  I  have  reason  to  believe, 
did  me  a  service  far  beyond  that  of  the  moment.  Samuel, 
who,  fortunately  for  my  shame,  had  a  great  respect  for  fear  of 
this  kind,  had  his  bed  removed  accordingly  into  my  room.  He 
used  to  entertain  me  at  night  with  stories  of  Barbadoes  and 
the  negroes ;  and  in  a  few  days  I  was  reassured  and  happy. 

It  was  then  (oh,  shame  that  I  must  speak  of  fair  lady 
after  confessing  a  heart  so  faint  I) — it  was  then  that  I  fell  in 
love  with  my  cousin  Fan.  However,  I  would  have  fought 
all  her  young  acquaintances  round  for  her,  timid  as  I  was, 
and  little  inclined  to  pugnacity. 


FANNY  DAYRELL.  113 

Fanny  was  a  lass  of  fifteen,  with  little  laughing  eyes,  and 
a  mouth  like  a  plum.  I  was  then  (I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to 
be  ashamed  to  say  it)  not  more  than  thirteen,  if  so  old  ;  but 
I  had  Tead  Tooke's  Pantheon,  and  came  of  a  precocious  race. 
My  cousin  came  of  one  too,  and  was  about  to  be  married  to 
a  handsome  young  fellow  of  three-and-twenty.  I  thought 
nothing  of  this,  for  nothing  could  be  more  innocent  than  my 
intentions.  I  was  not  old  enough,  or  grudging  enough,  or 
whatever  it  was,  even  to  be  jealous.  I  thought  every  body 
must  love  Fanny  Dayrell ;  and  if  she  did  not  leave  me  out 
in  permitting  it,  I  was  satisfied.  It  was  enough  for  me  to  be 
with  her  as  long  as  I  could ;  to  gaze  on  her  with  delight,  as 
she  floated  hither  and  thither ;  and  to  sit  on  the  stiles  in  the 
neighboring  field.s,  thinking  of  Tooke's  Pantheon.  My  friend- 
ship was  greater  than  my  love.  Had  my  favorite  schoolfellow 
been  ill,  or  otherwise  demanded  my  return,  I  should  certain- 
ly have  chosen  his  society  in  preference.  Three-fourths  of 
my  L.'art  were  devoted  to  friendship  ;  the  rest  was  in  a 
vague  dream  of  beauty,  and  female  cousins,  and  nymphs, 
and  green  fields,  and  a  feeling  which,  though  of  a  Avarm 
nature,  was  full  of  fear  and  respect. 

Had  the  jade  put  me  on  the  least  equality  of  footing  as  to 
age,  I  know  not  Avhat  change  might  have  been  wrought  in  me  ; 
but  though  too  young  herself  for  the  serious  duties  she  was 
about  to  bring  on  her,  and  full  of  sufficient  levity  and  gayety 
not  to  be  uninterested  with  the  little  hlack-eyed  schoolboy  that 
lingered  about  her,  my  vanity  was  well  paid  ofi'  by  hers,  for 
she  kept  me  at  a  distance  by  calling  me  2'^(^tit  garden.  This 
was  no  better  than  the  assumption  of  an  elder  sister  in  her 
teens  over  a  younger  one  ;  but  the  latter  feels  it,  nevertheless  ; 
and  I  persuaded  myself  that  it  was  particularly  cruel.  I 
wished  the  Abbe  Paris  at  Jamaica  with  his  French.  There 
would  she  come  in  her  frock  and  tucker  (for  she  had  not  yet 
left  off  either),  her  curls  dancing,  and  her  hands  clasped  to- 
gether in  the  enthusiasm  of  something  to  tell  me,  and  when 
I  flew  to  meet  her,  forgetting  the  difference  of  ages,  and 
alive  only  to  my  charming  cousin,  she  would  repress  me 
with  a  iittlp  fillip  on  the  clieek,  and  say,  "  Well,  'petit  gar- 
qon,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "      The  worst  of  it  was, 


11-1  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

that  this  odious  Frencli  plirase  sat  insufferably  well  upon 
her  plump  little  mouth.  She  and  I  used  to  gather  peaches 
before  the  house  were  up.  I  held  the  ladder  for  her  ;  she 
mounted  like  a  fairy  ;  and  when  I  stood  dotting  on  her,  as 
she  loolced  down  and  threw  the  fruit  in  my  lap,  she  would 
cry,  "  Petit  gargon,  you  will  let  'em  all  drop  I"  On  my  re- 
turn to  school,  she  gave  me  a  locket  for  a  keepsalce,  in  the 
shape  of  a  heart ;  which  was  the  worst  thing  she  ever  did 
to  the  petit  gar f on,  for  it  touched  me  on  my  weak  side,  and 
looked  like  a  sentiment.  I  believe  I  should  have  had  serious 
thoughts  of  becoming  melancholy,  had  I  not,  in  returning  to 
school,  returned  to  my  friend,  and  so  found  means  to  occupy 
my  craving  for  sympathy.  However,  I  wore  the  heart  a 
long  while.  I  have  sometimes  thought  there  was  more  in 
her  French  than  I  imagined  ;  but  I  believe  not.  She  natu- 
rally took  herself  for  double  my  age,  with  a  lover  of  three- 
and-twcnty.  Soon  after  her  marriage,  fortune  separated  us 
for  many  years.  My  passion  had  almost  as  soon  died  away  ; 
but  I  have  loved  the  name  of  Fanny  ever  since  ;  and  when 
I  met  her  again,  which  was  under  circumstances  of  trouble 
on  her  part,  I  could  not  see  her  without  such  an  emotion  as 
I  was  fain  to  confess  to  a  person  "  near  and  dear,"  who  for- 
gave me  for  it ;  which  made  me  love  the  forgiver  the  more. 
Yes  !  the  "  black  ox  "  trod  on  the  fairy  foot  of  my  light-heart- 
ed cousin  Fan  ;  of  her,  whom  I  could  no  more  have  thought 
of  in  conjunction  with  sorrow,  than  of  a  ball-room  with  a 
tragedy.  To  know  that  she  was  rich  and  admired,  and 
abounding  in  mirth  and  music,  was  to  me  the  same  thing 
as  to  know  that  she  existed.  How  often  did  I  afterward 
wish  myself  rich  in  turn,  that  I  might  have  restored  to  her 
all  the  graces  of  life  I  She  was  generous,  and  would  not 
have  denied  me  the  satisfaction. 

This  was  my  first  love.  That  for  a  friend's  sister  was 
my  second,  and  not  so  strong  ;  for  it  was  divided  with  the 
admiration  of  which  I  have  spoken  for  the  Park  music  and 
"  the  soldiers."  Nor  had  the  old  tendency  to  mix  up  the 
clerical  with  the  military  service  been  forgotten.  Indeed,  I 
have  never  been  without  a  clerical  tendency;  nor,  after 
what  I  have  written  for  the  genial  edification  of  my  fellow- 


JEWS'  SYNAGOGUE  IN  DUKE'S  PLACE.       J 15 

creatures,  and  the  extension  of  charitable  and  happy  thoughts 
in  matters  of  religion,  would  I  be  thought  to  speak  of  it  with- 
out even  a  certain  gravity,  not  compromised  or  turned  into 
levity,  in  my  opinion,  by  any  cheerfulness  of  tone  with  which 
it  may  happen  to  be  associated  ;  for  Heaven  has  made  smiles 
as  well  as  tears  ;  has  made  laughter  itself,  and  mirth  ;  and 
to  appr-^ciate  its  gifts  thoroughly  is  to  treat  none  of  them 
with  disrespect,  or  to  affect  to  be  above  them.  The  wholly 
gay,  and  the  wholly  grave  spirit  is  equally  but  half  the 
spirit  of  a  right  human  creature. 

I  mooted  points  of  faith  with  myself  very  early,  in  conse- 
quence of  what  I  heard  at  home.  The  very  inconsistencies 
which  I  observed  round  about  me  in  matters  of  belief  and 
practice,  did  but  the  more  make  me  wish  to  discover  in  what 
the  right  spirit  of  religion  consisted  :  while,  at  the  same  time, 
nobody  felt  more  instinctively  than  myself,  that  forms  were 
necessary  to  preserve  essence.  I  had  the  greatest  respect 
for  them,  wherever  I  thought  them  sincere.  I  got  up 
imitatiojis  of  religious  processions  in  the  school-room,  and 
persuaded  my  coadjutors  to  learn  even  a  psalm  in  the  origi- 
nal Hebrew,  in  order  to  sing  it  as  part  of  the  ceremony. 
To  make  the  lesson  as  easy  as  possible,  it  was  the  shortest 
of  all  the  psalms,  the  hundred  and  seventeenth,  which  con- 
sists but  of  two  verses.  A  Jew,  I  am  afraid,  would  have 
been  puzzled  to  recognize  it ;  though,  perhaps,  I  got  the 
tone  from  his  own  synagogue  ;  for  I  was  well  acquainted 
with  that  place  of  worship.  I  was  led  to  dislike  Catholic 
chapels,  in  spite  of  their  music  and  their  paintings,  by  what 
I  had  read  of  Inquisitions,  and  by  the  impiety  which  I  found 
in  the  doctrine  of  eternal  punishment — a  monstrosity  which 
I  never  associated  with  the  Church  of  England,  at  least  not 
•jiabitually.  But  identifying  no  such  dogmas  with  the  Jews, 
who  are  indeed  free  from  them  (though  I  was  not  aware  of 
that  circumstance  at  the  time),  and  reverencing  them  for 
their  ancient  connection  with  the  Bible,  I  used  to  go  with 
some  of  my  companions  to  the  synagogue  in  Duke's  Place ; 
where  I  took  pleasure  in  witnessing  the  semi-catholic  pomp 
of  their  service,  and  in  hearhig  their  fine  singing  ;  not  with- 
out something  of  a  constant  astonishment  at  their  wearins: 


UG  LIFE  OF  LEIGH   HUNT. 

their  hats.  This  custom,  however,  kindly  mixed  itself  up 
with  the  recollection  of  my  cocked  hat  and  band.  I 
was  not  aware  that  it  originated  in  the  immovable  eastern 
turban. 

These  visits  to  the  synagogue  did  me,  I  conceive,  a  great 
deal  of  good.  They  served  to  universalize  my  notions  of 
rehgion,  and  to  keep  them  unbigoted.  It  never  became 
necessary  to  remind  me  that  Jesus  was  himself  a  Jew.  I 
have  also  retained  through  life  a  respectful  notion  of  the 
Jews  as  a  body. 

There  were  some  school  rhymes  about  "  pork  upon  a  fork," 
and  the  Jews  going  to  prison.  At  Easter,  a  strip  of  bor- 
dered paper  was  stuck  on  the  breast  of  every  boy,  contain- 
ing the  words  "  He  is  risen.  It  did  not  give  us  the  slight- 
est thought  of  what  it  recorded.  It  only  reminded  us  of  an 
old  rhyme,  which  some  of  the  boys  used  to  go  about  the 
.«chool  repeating  : 

He  i.s  ri-sen,  he  is  risen, 

All  the  Jews  must  go  to  prison. 

A  beautiful  Christian  deduction  I  Thus  has  charity  itself 
been  converted  into  a  spirit  of  antagonism  ;  and  thus  it  is 
that  the  antagonism,  in  the  progress  of  knowledge,  becomes 
iirst  a  pastime  and  then  a  jest. 

I  never  forgot  the  Jews'  synagogue,  their  music,  their 
tabernacle,  and  the  courtesy  with  which  strangers  were 
allowed  to  see  it.  I  had  the  pleasure,  before  I  left  school, 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  some  members  of  their  com- 
munity, who  were  extremely  liberal  toward  other  opinions, 
and  who,  nevertheless,  entertained  a  sense  of  the  Supreme 
Being  far  more  reverential  than  I  had  observed  in  any 
Christian,  my  mother  excepted.  My  feelings  toward  them 
received  additional  encouragement  from  the  respect  shown  to 
their  history  in  the  paintings  of  Mr.  West,  who  was  any  thing 
but  a  bigot  himself,  and  who  often  had  Jews  to  sit  to  him. 
I  contemplated  Moses  and  Aaron,  and  the  young  Levites,  by 
the  sweet  light  of  his  picture-rooms,  where  every  body  trod 
about  in  stillness,  as  though  it  was  a  kind  of  holy  ground  ; 
and  if  I  met  a  Habbi  in  the  street,  he  seemed  to  me  a  man 


CHARLES  LAMB  IN  HIS  TEENS.  117 

coming,  not  from  Bishopsgate  or  Saffron  Hill,  but  out  of  the 
remoteness  of  time. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  distiuguished  individuals  bred  at 
Christ-Hospital,  including  Coleridge  and  Lamb,  who  left 
the  school  not  long  before  I  entered  it.  Coleridge  I  never 
saw  till  he  was  old.  Lamb  I  recollect  coming  to  see  the 
boys,  with  a  pensive,  brown,  handsome,  and  kingly  face, 
and  a  gait  advancing  with  a  motion  from  side  to  side,  be- 
tween involuntary  consciousness  and  attempted  ease.  His 
brown  complexion  may  have  been  owing  to  a  visit  in  the 
country  ;  his  air  of  uneasiness  to  a  great  burden  of  sorrow. 
He  dressed  with  a  quaker-like  plainness.  I  did  not  know 
him  as  Lamb  ;  I  took  him  for  a  Mr.  "  Guy,"  having  heard 
somebody  address  him  by  that  appellative,  I  suppose  in  jest. 

The  boy  whom  I   have  designated   in  these  notices  as 

C n,  and  whose  intellect  in  riper  years  became  clouded, 

had  a  more  than  usual  look  of  being  the  son  of  old  parents. 
He  had  a  reputation  among  us,  which,  in  more  superstitious 
times,  might  have  rendered  him  an  object  of  dread.  We 
thought  he  knew  a  good  deal  out  of  the  pale  of  ordinary  in- 
quiries. He  studied  the  weather  and  the  stars,  things  which 
boys  rarely  trouble  their  heads  with  ;  and  as  I  had  an  awe 
of  thunder,  which  always  brought  a  reverential  shade  on 
my  mother's  face,  as  if  God  had  been  speaking,  I  used  to 
send  to  him  on  close  summer  days,  to  know  if  thunder  was 
to  be  expected. 

In  connection  with  this  mysterious  schoolfellow,  though 
he  was  the  last  person,  in  some  respects,  to  be  associated 
with  him,  I  must  mention  a  strange  epidemic  fear  which 
occasionally  prevailed  among  the  boys,  respecting  a  person- 
age whom  they  called  the  Fazzer. 

The  Fazzer  was  known  to  be  nothing  more  than  one  of 
the  boys  themselves.  In  fact,  he  consisted  of  one  of  the 
most  impudent  of  the  bigger  ones  ;  but  as  it  was  his  cus- 
tom to  disguise  his  face,  and  as  this  aggravated  the  terror 
which  made  the  little  boys  hide  their  own  faces,  his  partici- 
pation of  our  common  human  nature  only  increased  the 
supernatural  fearfulness  of  his  pretensions.  His  ollice  as 
Fazzer  consisted  in  being  audacious,  unknown,  and  frishteu- 


113  LIFE  OF  LKIGil  HUNT. 

ing  the  boys  at  night ;  sometimes  by  pulling  them  out  of 
their  beds  ;  sometimes  by  simply  fazzlng  their  hair  ("  faz 
zing"  meant  pulling  or  vexing,  like  a  goblin) ;  sometimes 
(which  was  horriblcst  of  all)  by  quietly  giving  us  to  under- 
stand, in  some  way  or  other,  that  the  "  Fazzer  was  out," 
that  is  to  say,  out  of  his  own  bed,  and  then  being  seen  (by 
those  who  dared  to  look)  sitting,  or  otherwise  making  his 
appearance,  in  his  white  shirt,  motionless  and  dumb.  It 
was  a  very  good  horror,  of  its  kind.  The  Fazzer  was  our 
Dr.  Faustus,  our  elf,  our  spectre,  our  Flibbertigibbet,  who 
"  put  knives  in  our  pillows  and  halters  in  our  pews."  He 
was  Jones,  it  is  true,  or  Smith  ;  but  he  was  also  somebody 
else — an  anomaly,  a  duality.  Smith  and  sorcery  united.  My 
friend  Charles  Oilier  should  have  written  a  book  about  him. 
He  was  our  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  and  yet  a  common 
boy. 

One  night  I  thought  I  saw  this  phenomenon  under  cir- 
cumstances more  than  usually  unearthly.  It  was  a  fine 
moonlight  night ;  I  was  then  in  a  ward  the  casements  of 
which  looked  (as  they  still  look)  on  the  church-yard.  My 
bed  was  under  the  second  window  from  the  east,  not  far 
from  the  statue  of  Edward  the  Sixth.  Happening  to  wake 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  cast  up  my  eyes,  I  saAv,  on 
a  bed's  head  near  me,  and  in  one  of  these  casements,  a  figure 
in  its  shirt,  which  I  took  for  the  Fazzer.  The  room  was 
silent ;  the  figure  motionless  ;  I  fancied  that  half  the  boys 
in  the  ward  were  glancing  at  it,  without  daring  to  speak. 

It  was    poor    C n,    gazing    at    that    lunar    orb,   which 

might  aftcrwerd  be  supposed  to  have  malignantly  fascinated 
him. 

Contemporary  with  C u  was  Wood,  before  mention- 
ed, whom  I  admired  for  his  verses,  and  who  was  afterward 
Fellow  of  Pembroke  College,  Cambridge,  where  I  visitec' 
him,  and  found  him,  to  my  astonishment,  a  head  shorter  than 
myself  Every  upper  boy  at  school  appears  a  giant  to  a 
little  one.  "  Big  boy"  and  senior  are  synonymous.  Now 
and  then,  however,  extreme  smallness  in  a  senior  scholar 
gives  a  new  kind  of  dignity,  by  reason  of  the  testimony  it 
bears  to  the  ascendency  of  the  intellect.      It  was  the  custom 


SCHOOL-DAYS  OF  MITCHELL  AND  BARNES.  119 

for  the  monitors  at  Christ-Hospital,  during  prayers  berore 
meat,  to  stand  frontiiig  the  tenants  of  their  respective  wards, 
while  the  objects  of  their  attention  were  kneeling.  Looking 
up,  on  one  of  these  occasions,  toward  a  new  monitor  who 
was  thus  standing,  and  whose  face  was  unknown  to  me  (for 
there  were  six  hundred  of  us,  and  his  ward  was  not  mine), 
I  thought  him  the  smallest  boy  that  could  ever  have  attamcd 
to  so  distinguished  an  eminence.  He  was  little  in  person, 
little  in  lace,  and  he  had  a  singularly  juvenile  cast  of  features 
even  for  one  so  iietitc. 

It  was  Mitchell,  the  translator  of  Aristophanes.  He  had 
really  attained  his  position  prematurely.  I  rose  afterward 
1o  be  next  to  him  in  the  school  ;  and  from  a  grudge  that 
existed  between  us,  owing  probably  to  reserve,  v.'hich  I 
thought  pride  on  his  part,  and  to  an  ardency  which  he  may 
have  considered  frivolous  on  mine,  we  became  friends.  Cir- 
cumstances parted  us  in  after  life  ;  I  became  a  Reformist, 
and  he  a  Quarterly  Reviewer  ;  but  he  sent  me  kindly  re- 
membrances not  long  before  he  died.  I  did  not  know  he 
was  declining ;  and  it  will  ever  be  a  pain  to  me  to  reflect, 
that  delay  conspired  with  accident  to  hinder  my  sense  of  it 
from  being  known  to  him;  especially  as  I  learned  that  he 
had  not  been  so  prosperous  as  I  supposed.  He  had  his 
weaknesses  as  well  as  myself,  but  they  were  mixed  with 
conscientious  and  noble  qualities.  Zealous  as  he  was  for 
aristocratical  government,  he  was  no  indiscriminate  admirer 
of  persons  in  high  places ;  and,  though  it  would  have  bettered 
his  views  in  hfe,  he  had  declined  taking  orders,  from  nicety 
of  religious  scruple.  Of  his  admirable  scholarship  I  need 
say  nothing. 

Equally  good  scholar,  but  of  a  less  zealous  temperament, 
was  Barnes,  who  stood  next  me  on  the  Deputy- Grecian 
form,  and  who  was  afterward  identified  with  the  sudden  and 
striking  increase  of  the  Time?,  newspaper  in  fame  and  influ- 
ence. He  was  very  handsome  when  young,  with  a  profile 
of  Grecian  regularity  ;  and  Avas  famous  among  us  for  a  cer- 
tain dispassionate  humor,  for  his  admiration  of  the  works  of 
Fielding,  and  lor  his  delight,  nevertheless,  in  pushing  a  nar- 
rative to  its  utmost,  and  drawing  upon  his  stores  of  fancy 


120  LIKE  OF  LKIGII   HUNT. 

ibr  uitCiisilyiiig  it  ;  an  amuscrucut  for  v/liicli  he  possessed  aii 
understood  privilege.  It  was  painful  in  after-life  to  see  his 
good  looks  swallowed  up  in  corpulency,  and  his  once  hand- 
some mouth  thrusting  its  under  lip  out,  and  panting  with 
asthma.  I  believe  he  was  originally  so  well  constituted,  in 
point  of  health  and  bodily  ieeling,  that  he  fancied  he  could 
go  on  all  his  life  without  taking  any  of  the  usual  methods  to 
preserve  his  comfort.  The  editorship  of  the  Times,  which 
turned  his  night  into  day,  and  "would  have  been  a  trying 
burden  to  any  man,  completed  the  bad  consequences  of  his 
negligence  ;  and  he  died  painfully  before  he  Avas  old.  Barnes 
wrote  elegant  Latin  verse,  a  classical  English  style,  and 
might  assuredly  have  made  himself  a  name,  in  wit  and 
literature,  had  he  cared  much  for  any  thing  beyond  his  glass 
of  wine  and  his  Fielding. 

What  pleasant  days  have  I  not  passed  with  him.  and 
other  schoolfellows,  bathing  in  the  New  lliver,  and  boating 
on  the  Thames.  lie  and  I  began  to  learn  Italian  together ; 
and  any  body  not  within  the  pale  of  the  enthusiastic,  might 
have  thought  us  mad,  as  we  went  shouting  the  beginning 
of  Metastasio's  ode  to  Venus,  as  loud  as  we  could  bawl,  over 
the  Hornsey-fields.  I  can  repeat  it  to  this  day,  from  those 
first  lessons. 

Scendi  propizia 

Col  tuo  .splendorc, 
0  bella  Yenere, 

Madre  d'Araore  ; 
Madre  d'Amore, 

Che  sola  sei 
Placer  degli  uomini, 

E  degli  dci.* 

On  the  same  principle  of  making  invocations  as  loud  as 
possible,  and  at  the  same  time  of  fulfilling  the  prophecy  of  a 
poet,  and  also  for  the  purpose  of  indulging  ourselves  with  an 
echo,  we  used  to  lie  upon  our  oars  at  Richmond,  and  call, 
in  the  most  vociferous  manner,  upon  the  spirit  of  Thomson 
to  "  rest." 

*  "  Descend  propitious  with  thy  brightness,  O  beautiful  Venus, 
Mother  of  Love  ;  Mother  of  Love,  who  alone  art  the  pleasure  of  men 
njid  of  gods." 


DEPARTURE  FROM  SCHOOL.  121 

Remembrance  oft  shall  haunt  the  shoie, 
When  Thames  in  summer  wreaths  is  digest, 

And  oft  suspend  the  dashing  oar 
To  bid  his  gentle  spirit  rest. 

Collinses  Ode  on  the  Death  of  Thomson. 

It  was  more  like  "  perturbing"  his  spirit  than  laying  it. 

One  day  Barnes  fell  overboard',  and,  on  getting  into  the 
boat  again,  he  drew  a  little  edition  of  Seneca  out  of  his 
pocket,  which  seemed  to  have  become  fat  with  the  water. 
It  was  like  an  extempore  dropsy. 

Another  time,  several  of  us  being  tempted  to  bathe  on  a 
very  hot  day,  near  Hammersmith,  and  not  exercising  suf- 
ficient patience  in  selecting  our  spot,  we  were  astonished  at 
receiving  a  sudden  lecture  from  a  lady.  She  was  in  a  hat 
and  feathers,  and  riding-habit  ;  and  as  the  grounds  turned 
out  to  belong  to  the  Margravine  of  Anspach  (Lady  Craven), 
we  persuaded  ourselves  that  our  admonitrix,  who  spoke  in 
no  measured  terms,  was  her  Serene  Highness  herself.  The 
obvious  reply  to  her  was,  that  if  it  was  indiscreet  in  us  not 
to  have  chosen  a  more  sequestered  spot,  it  was  not  exces- 
sively the  reverse  in  a  lady  to  come  ant!  rebuke  us.  I  re- 
lated this  story  to  my  acquaintance,  Sir  Robert  Ker  Porter, 
who  knew  her.  His  observation  was,  that  nothing  wonder- 
ful was  to  be  wondered  at  in  the  Margravine. 

I  was  fifteen  when  I  put  off  my  band  aiic'  blue  skirts  for 
a  coat  and  iieckcloth.  I  was  then  first  Deputy-Grecian, 
and  I  had  the  honor  of  going  out  of  the  scho:>l  .'n  the  same 
rank,  at  the  same  age,  and  for  the  same  reason,  as  my  friend 
Charles  Lamb.  The  reason  was  that  I  hesiiiiVX)d  in  my 
speech.  I  did  not  stammer  half  so  badly  as  I  used ;  and  it 
is  very  seldom  that  I  halt  at  a  syllable  now ;  but  it  was 
understood  that  a  Grecian  was  bound  to  deliver  &  Bublie 
speech  before  he  left  school,  and  to  go  into  the  church  after- 
ward ;  and  as  I  could  do  neither  of  these  things,  a  Greci&ii 
I  could  not  be.  So  I  put  on  my  coat  and  waistcoat,  ani?; 
what  was  stranger,  my  hat ;  a  very  uncomfortable  adu..- 
tion  to  my  sensations.  For  eight  years  I  had  gone  bare- 
headed ;  save  now  and  then,  a  few  inches  of  pericranium, 
when  the  litUe  cap,  no  larger  than  a  crumpet,  was  stuck 
VOL.  I. — F 


122  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

on  one  side,  lo  the  mystification  of  the  old  ladies  in  the 
streets. 

I  then  cared  as  little  lor  the  rains  as  I  did  for  any  thing 
else.  I  had  now  a  vague  sense  of  worldly  trouble,  and  of  a 
great  and  serious  change  in  my  condition ;  besides  which,  I 
had  to  quit  my  old  cloisters,  and  my  playmates,  and  long 
habits  of  all  sorts ;  so  that,  what  was  a  very  happy  moment 
to  schoolboys  in  general,  was  to  me  one  of  the  most  painful 
of  my  life.  I  surprised  my  schoolfellows  and  the  master 
with  the  melancholy  of  my  tears.  I  took,  leave  of  my  books, 
of  my  friends,  of  my  seat  in  the  grammar-school,  of  my  good- 
hearted  nurse  and  her  daughter,  of  my  bed,  of  the  cloisters, 
and  of  the  very  pump  out  of  which  I  had  taken  so  many  de- 
licious draughts,  as  if  I  should  never  see  them  again,  though 
I  meant  to  come  every  day.  The  fatal  hat  was  put  on  ;  my 
father  was  come  to  fetch  me. 

Wc,  hand  in  hand,  with  strange  new  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Holborn  took  our  meditative  way. 


CHAPTER  V. 

YOUTH. 

Tuvenile  verses. — Visits  to  Cambridge  and  Oxford. — Danger  of  drown- 
ing.— Bobart,  the  Oxford  coachman. — Spirit  of  University  training. 
— Dr.  Raine,  of  the  Charter-Hou.se. — A  juvenile  beard. — America 
and  Dr.  Franklin.— -Maurice,  author  of  Indian  Antiquities. — Welsh 
bards. — A  religious  boy. — Doctrine  of  self-preservation. — A  walk 
from  Ramsgate  to  Brighton. — Character  of  a  liver  at  inns. — A  de- 
vout landlord. — Inhospitality  to  the  benighted. — Answers  of  rustics 
to  wayfarers. — Pedestrian  exploits. — Dangers  of  delay. — The  club 
of  ciders. 

For  some  time  after  I  left  school,  I  did  nothing  but  visit 
my  schoolfellows,  haunt  the  book-stalls,  and  wjite  verses. 
My  father  collected  the  verses ;  and  published  them  with  a 
large  list  of  subscribers,  numbers  of  whom  belonged  to  his 
old  congregations.  I  was  as  proud  perhaps  of  the  book  at  that 
time,  as  I  am  ashamed  of  it  now.  The  French  Ptevolution, 
though  the  worst  portion  of  it  was  over,  had  not  yet  shaken 
up  and  re-invigorated  the  sources  of  thought  all  over  Europe. 
At  least  I  was  not  old  enough,  perhaps  was  not  able,  to  get 
out  of  the, trammels  of  the  regular  imitative  poetry,  or  versi- 
fication rather,  which  was  taught  in  the  schools.  My  book 
was  a  heap  of  imitations,  all  but  absolutely  worthless.  But 
absurd  as  it  was,  it  did  me  a  serious  mischief ;  for  it  made 
me  suppose  that  I  had  attained  an  end,  instead  of  not  having 
reached  even  a  commencement ;  and  thus  caused  me  to 
waste  in  imitation  a  good  many  years  M'hi(ih  I  ought  to  have 
devoted  to  the  study  of  the  poetical  art,  and  of  nature. 
Coleridge  has  praised  Boyer  for  teaching  us  to  laugh  at 
"muses,"  and  "  Castalian  streams  ;"  but  he  ought  rather  to 
have  lamented  that  he  did  not  teach  us  how  to  love  them 
wisely,  as  he  might  have  done  had  he  really  known  any  thing 
about  poetry,  or  loved  Spenser  and  the  old  poets,  as  he 
thought  he  admired  the  new.  Even  Coleridge's  juvenile 
poems  were  none  the  better   for  Bnyer's   1rai:;infr.      As  to 


124  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

mine,  they  were  for  the  most  part  as  mere  trash  as  anti-Cas- 
talian  heart  could  have  desired.  I  wrote  "  odes"  because 
Collins  and  Gray  had  written  them,  "  pastorals"  because 
Pope  had  written  them,  "  blank  verse"  because  Akenside 
and  Thomson  had  written  blank  verse,  and  a  "  Palace  of 
Pleasure"  because  Spenser  had  written  a  "  Bower  of  Bliss." 
But  in  all  these  authors  I  saw  little  but  their  words,  and 
imitated  even  those  badly.  I  had  nobody  to  bid  me  to  go 
to  the  nature  Avhich  had  originated  the  books.  Coleridge's 
lauded  teacher  put  into  ray  hands,  at  one  time,  the  life  of 
Pope  by  Ruflliead  (the  worst  he  could  have  chosen),  and  at 
another  (for  the  express  purpose  of  cultivating  my  love  of 
poetry)  the  Irene  and  other  poems  of  Dr.  Johnson  I  Pope's 
smooth  but  unartistical  versification  spell-bound  me  for  a  long 
time.  Of  Johnson's  poem  I  retained  nothing  but  the  epigram 
beginning  "Hermit  hoar — " 

"  Hermit  hoar,  in  solemn  cell, 

Wearing  out  life's  cvenini^  gray, 
Strike  thy  bosom,  sage,  and  tell 
What  is  bliss,  and  which  the  way. 

"  Thus  I  spoke,  and  speaking,  sighed, 
Scarce  repressed  the  starting  tear, 
When  the  hoary  sage  replied. 

Come,  my  lad,  and  drink  some  beer." 

This  was  the  first  epigram  of  the  kind  which  I  had  seen ; 
and  it  had  a  cautionary  efieet  upon  me  to  an  extent  which 
its  author  might  hardly  have  desired.  The  grave  Dr.  John- 
son and  the  rogue  Ambrose  de  Lamela,  in  Gil  Bias,  stood 
side  by  side  in  my  imagination  as  unmaskers  of  venerable 
appearances. 

Not  long  after  ihe  publication  of  my  book,  I  visited  two 
of  my  school-fellows,  who  had  gone  to  Cambridge  and  Ox- 
ford. The  repute  of  it,  unfortunately,  accompanied  me,  and 
gave  a  foolish  increase  to  my  self-complacency.  At  Oxford, 
I  was  introduced  to  Kett,  the  poetry  professor,  a  good-na- 
tured man,  with  a  face  like  a  Houhynnm  (Swift  should  have 
thought  it  a  pattern  for  humanity).  It  was  in  the  garden 
of  his  college  (Trinity);  and  he  expressed  a  hope  that  I 
should  feel  inspired  then  "by  the  muse  of  Warton."      I  was 


DANGER  OF  BEING  DROWxXED.  12& 

not  acquainted  with  the  writings  of  Warton  at  that  time  ; 
and  perhaps  my  ignorance  was  fortunate ;  for  it  was  not 
till  long  after  my  acquaintance  with  them,  that  I  saw  fur- 
ther into  their  merits,  than  the  very  first  anti-commonplaces 
would  have  discerned,  and  as  I  had  not  acquired  even  those 
at  that  period,  and  my  critical  presumption  was  on  a  par 
with  my  poetical,  I  should  probably  have  given  the  professor 
to  understand,  that  I  had  no  esteem  for  that  kind  of  second- 
hand inspiration.  I  was  not  aware  that  my  own  was  pre- 
cisely of  the  same  kind,  and  as  difierent  from  Warton' s  as 
poverty  from  acquirement. 

At  Oxford,  my  love  of  boating  had  nearly  cost  me  my  life, 
I  had  already  had  a  bit  of  a  taste  of  drowning  in  the  river 
Thames,  in  consequence  of  running  a  boat  too  hastily  on 
shore  ;  but  it  was  nothing  to  what  I  experienced  on  this  oc- 
casion. The  schoolfellow  whom  I  was  visiting  was  the 
friend  whose  family  lived  in  Spring  Gardens.  We  had  gone 
out  in  a  little  decked  skiff  and  not  expecting  disasters  in  the 
gentle  Isis,  I  had  fastened  the  sail-line,  of  which  I  had  the 
direction,  in  order  that  I  might  read  a  volume  which  I  had 
with  me,  of  Mr.  Cumberland's  novel  called  "  Henry."  My 
friend  was  at  the  helm.  The  wind  grew  a  little  strong  ; 
and  we  had  just  got  into  Iffley  Reach,  when  I  heard  him 
exclaim,  "  Hunt,  we  are  over."  The  next  moment  I  was 
under  the  water,  gulping  it,  and  giving  myself  up  for  lost 
The  boat  had  a  small  opening  in  the  middle  of  the  deck, 
under  which  I  had  thurst  my  feet  ;  this  circumstance  had 
carried  me  over  with  the  boat,  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  1 
found  I  had  got  the  sail-line  round  my  neck.  My  friend, 
who  sat  on  the  deck  itself,  had  been  swept  off,  and  got  com- 
fortably to  shore,  which  was  at  a  little  distance. 

My  bodily  sensations  were  not  so  painful  as  I  should  have 
fancied  they  would  have  been.  My  mental  reflections  were 
very  different,  though  one  of  them,  by  a  singular  meeting  of 
extremes,  was  of  a  comic  nature.  I  thought  that  I  should 
never  see  the  sky  again,  that  I  had  parted  with  all  my  friends, 
and  that  I.  was  about  to  contradict  the  proverb  which  said  that 
a  man  who  was  born  to  be  hung,  ■would  never  be  drowned  ; 
for  the  sail-line,  in  which  I  felt  entangled,  seemed  destined  to 


126  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

perform  for  me  both  the  ofEces.  On  a  sudden,  I  found  an 
oar  in  my  hand,  and  the  next  minute  I  was  chmbing,  with 
assistance,  into  a  wherry,  in  which  there  sat  two  Oxonians, 
one  of  them  helping  me,  and  loudly  and  laughingly  differing 
with  the  other,  who  did  not  at  all  like  the  rocking  of  the 
boat,  and  who  assured  me,  to  the  manifest  contradiction  of 
such  senses  as  I  had  left,  that  there  was  no  room.  This 
gentleman  is  now  no  more  ;  and  I  shall  not  mention  his 
name,  because  I  might  do  injustice  to  the  memory  of  a 
brave  man  struck  with  a  panic.  The  name  of  his  compan- 
ion, if  I  mistake  not,  was  Russel.  I  hope  he  was  related  to 
an  illustrious  person  of  the  same  name,  to  whom  I  have  lately 
been  indebted  for  what  may  have  been  another  prolongation  of 
my  life. 

On  returning  to  town,  which  I  did  on  the  top  of  an  Oxford 
coach,  I  was  relating  this  story  to  the  singular  person  who  then 
drove  it  (Bobart,  who  had  been  a  collegian),  when  a  man  who 
was  sitting  behind  surprised  us  with  the  excess  of  his  laughter. 
On  asking  him  the  reason,  he  touched  his  hat,  and  said, 
"  Sir,  I'm  his  footman."  Such  are  the  delicacies  of  the 
livery,  and  the  glorifications  of  their  masters  with  which 
they  entertain  the  kitchen. 

This  Bobart  was  a  very  curious  person.  I  have  noticed 
him  in  the  Indicator,  in  the  article  on  "  Coaches."  He  was 
a  descendant  of  a  horticultural  family,  who  had  been  keepers 
of  the  Physic-Garden  at  Oxford,  and  one  of  whom  palmed  a 
rat  upon  the  learned  world  for  a  dragon,  by  stretching  out 
its  skin  into  wings.  Tillimant  Bobart  (for  such  was  the 
name  of  our  charioteer)  had  been  at  college  himself,  probably 
as  a  sizer ;  but  having  become  proprietor  of  a  stage-coach, 
he  thought  fit  to  be  his  own  coachman ;  and  he  received 
your  money  and  touched  his  hat  like  the  rest  of  the  frater- 
nity. He  had  a  round  red  face,  with  eyes  that  stared,  and 
showed  the  white  ;  and  having  become,  by  long  practice,  an 
excellent  capper  of  verses,  he  was  accustomed  to  have  bouts 
at  that  pastime  with  the  collegians  whom  he  drove.  It  was 
curious  to  hear  him  whistle  and  grunt,  and  urge  on  his  horses 
with  the  other  customary  euphonies  of  his  tribe,  and  then  see 
him  flash  his  eye  round  upon  the  capping  gentleman  who  sat 


OXFORD   AND  CAMBRIDGE.  127 

behind  him,  and  quote  his  never-failing  line  out  of  Virgil  and 
Horace.  In  the  evening  (for  he  only  drove  his  coach  half 
way  to  London)  l^e  divided  his  solace  after  his  labors,  between 
his  book  and  his  brandy-and-water  ;  but  I  am  afraid  with 
a  little  too  much  of  the  brandy,  for  his  end  was  not  happy.* 
There  was  eccentricity  in  the  family,  without  any  thing  much 
to  show  for  it.  The  Bobart  who  invented  the  dragon, 
chuckled  over  the  secret  for  a  long  time  with  a  satisfaction 
that  must  have  cost  him  many  falsehoods  ;  and  the  first 
Bobart  that  is  known,  used  to  tag  his  beard  with  silver  on 
holidays. 

If  female  society  had  not  been  wanting,  I  should  have 
longed  to  reside  at  an  university  ;  for  I  have  never  seen  trees, 
books,  and  a  garden  to  walk  in,  but  I  saw  my  natural  home, 
provided  there  was  no  "monkery"  in  it.  I  have  always 
thought  it  a  brave  and  great  saying  of  Mohammed,  "  There  is 
no  monkery  in  Islam." 

"From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  are  the  boojjs,  the  arts,  the  academes, 
Which  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world." 

Were  I  to  visit  the  universities  now,  I  should  explore 
every  corner,  and  reverently  fancy  myself  in  the  presence 
of  every  great  and  good  man  that  has  adorned  them ;  but  the 
most  important  people  to  young  men  are  one  another  ;  and  I 
was  content  with  glancing  at  the  haunts  of  Addison,  and 
Warton  in  Oxford,  and  at  those  of  Gray,  Spenser,  and  Milton, 
in  Cambridge.  Oxford,  I  found,  had  greatly  the  advantage 
of  Cambridge  in  point  of  country.  Y'ou  could  understand 
well  enough  how  poets  could  wander  about  Ifiley  and  Wood- 
stock ;  but  when  I  visited  Cambridge;  the  nakedness  of  the 
land  was  too  plainly  visible  under  a  sheet  of  snow,  through 
which  gutters  of  ditches  ran,  like  ink,  by  the  side  of  leafless 
sallows,  which  resembled  huge  pincushions  stuck  on  posts. 
The  town,  however,  made  amends  ;   and  Cambridge  has  the 

*  On  the  information  of  Mr.  George  Hooper,  of  Oxford,  who  kindly 
volunteered  the  communication  as  a  reader  of  the  Indicator,  and  sent  me 
a  very  curious  letter  on  the  subject ;  with  details,  however,  that  were 
rather  of  private  than  public  interest. 


128  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

advantage  of"  Oxford  in  a  remarkable  degree,  as  far  as  re- 
gards eminent  names.  England's  two  greatest  philosophers, 
Bacon  and  Newton,  and  (according  to  Tyrwhitt),  three  out 
of  its  four  great  poets,  were  bred  there,  besides  double  the 
number  of  minor  celebrities.  Oxford  even  did  not  always 
know  "  the  goods  the  gods  provided."  It  repudiated  Locke; 
alienated  Gibbon  ;  and  had  nothing  but  angry  suUenncss  and 
hard  expulsion  to  answer  to  the  inquiries  which  its  very  or- 
dinances encouraged  in  the  sincere  and  loving  spirit  of 
Shelley. 

Yet  they  are  divine  places,  both ;  full  of  grace  and  beauty, 
and  scholarship ;  of  reverent  antiquity,  and  ever  young  nature 
and  hope.  Their  faults,  if  of  worldliness  in  some,  are  those 
of  time  and  of  conscience  in  more,  and  if  the  more  pertinacious 
on  those  accounts,  will  merge  into  a  like  conservative  firm- 
ness, when  still  nobler  developments  are  in  their  keeping. 
So  at  least  I  hope  ;  and  so  may  the  fates  have  ordained  ; 
keeping  their  gowns  among  them  as  a  symbol  that  learning 
is  indeed  something  which  ever  learns ;  and  instructing  them 
to  teach  love  and  charity,  and  inquiry,  with  the  same  ac- 
complished authority,  as  that  with  M'hich  they  have  taught 
assent. 

My  book  was  unfortunately  successful  every  M'here,  par- 
ticularly in  the  metropolis.  The  critics  *were  extremely 
kind  ;  and,  as  it  Avas  luiusual  at  that  time  to  publish  at  so 
early  a  period  of  life,  my  age  made  me  a  kind  of  "  Young 
Hoscius"  in  authorship.  I  was  introduced  to  literati,  and 
shown  about  among  parties.  My  father  taking  me  to 
Bee  Dr.  Haine,  Master  of  the  Charter-house,  the  doctor,  who 
was  very  kind  and  pleasant,  but  who  probably  drew  none 
of  our  deductions  in  favor  of  the  young  writer's  abilities, 
warned  me  against  the  perils  of  authorship ;  adding  as  a  final 
dehor tative,  that  "  the  shelves  were  full."  It  was  not  till 
we  came  away,  that  I  thought  of  an  answer,  which  I  con- 
»,eived  would  have  "annihilated"  him.  "Then,  sir"  (I 
should  have  said),  "  we  will  make  another."  Not  having 
been  in  time  with  this  repartee,  I  felt  all  that  anguish  of 
undeserved  and  unnecessary  defeat,  which  has  been  so  pleas- 
antly described  in  the  Miseries  of  Human  Life.     This, 


AN  ENGLISH  ANSWER  TO  AMERICA.  129 

thought  I,  would  have  been  an  answer  befitting  a  poet,  and 
calculated  to  make  a  figure  in  biography. 

A  mortification  that  I  encountered  at  a  house  in  Cavendish- 
square  affected  me  no  less,  though  it  surprised  me  a  good  deal 
more.  I  had  been  held  up,  as  usual,  to  the  example  of  the 
young  gentlemen,  and  the  astonishment  of  the  young  ladies, 
when,  in  the  course  of  the  dessert,  one  of  mine  host's  daugh- 
ter's, a  girl  of  exuberant  spirits,  and  not  of  the  austerest  breed- 
ing, came  np  to  me,  and,  as  if  she  had  discovered  that  I  was 
not  so  young  as  I  pretended  to  be,  exclaimed,  "  What  a  beard 
you  have  got  I"  at  the  same  time  convincing  herself  of  the 
truth  of  her  discovery  by  taking  hold  of  it  I  Had  I  been  a 
year  or  two  older,  I  should  have  taken  my  revenge.  As  it 
was,  I  know  not  how  I  behaved,  but  the  next  morning  I 
hastened  to  have  a  beard  no  longer. 

I  was  now  a  man,  and  resolved  not  to  be  out  of  counte- 
nance next  time.  Not  long  afterward,  my  grandfather 
sensible  of  the  new  fame  of  his  family,  but  probably  alarm- 
ed at  the  fruitless  consequences  to  which  it  might  lead, 
sent  me  word,  that  if  I  would  come  to  Philadelphia,  "  he 
would  make  a  man  of  me."  I  sent  word,  in  return,  that 
"  men  grew  in  England  as  well  as  America  ;"  an  answer 
which  repaid  me  for  the  loss  of  my  repartee  at  Dr. 
Raine's.  I  was  very  angry  with  him  for  his  niggardly  con- 
duct to  my  mother.  I  could  not  help,  for  some  time,  identi- 
fying the  whole  American  character  with  his  ;  and  I  still 
have  a  tendency  to  do  so,  in  spite  of  relationship.  I  would 
fain  think  it  unjust ;  and  of  course  it  is  so,  as  far  as  regai'ds 
individuals.  For  the  rest,  1  must  refer  for  my  vindication 
to  Pennsylvanian  bond-holders,  southern  slave-holders,  and  to 
my  friends  the  United  States  booksellers,  who  do  us  so  much 
honor  in  taking  our  books,  and  giving  us  nothing  in  exchange. 
I  love  Emerson,  and  Bryant,  and  Lowell,  and  some  others, 
and  all  Philadelphia  women  in  jiarticular,  for  the  sake  of  my 
mother  ;  but  as  a  nation,  I  can  not  get  it  out  of  my  head, 
that  the  Americans  are  Englishmen  with  the  poetry  and 
romance  taken  out  of  them  ;  and  that  there  is  one  great 
counter  built  along  their  coast  from  north  to  south,  behind 
which   they  are   all    standing   like   so   many    linendrapers. 


130  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

They  will  be  far  otherwise,  I  have  no  doubt,  in  time  ,   and 
this  unchristian  opinion  of"  them  have  come  to  nothing. 

Partly  on  the  same  account,  I  acquired  a  dislike  for  my 
grandfather's  friend  Dr.  Franklin,  author  of  Poor  Richard's 
Almanack:  a  heap,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  of  "  Scoundrel 
max;ims."*  I  think  I  now  appreciate  Dr.  Franklin  as  I 
ought ;  but  although  I  can  see  the  utility  of  such  publica- 
tions as  his  Almanack  for  a  rising  commercial  state,  and 
hold  it  useful  as  a  memorandum  to  uncalculating  persons  like 
myself,  who  happen  to  live  in  an  old  one,  I  think  it  has  no 
business  either  in  commercial  nations  long  established,  or  in 
others  who  do  not  found  their  happiness  in  that  sort  of 
power.  Franklin,  with  all  his  abilities,  is  but  at  the  head 
of  those  who  think  that  man  lives  "  by  bread  alone."  lie  will 
commit  none  of  the  follies,  none  of  the  intolerances,  the  ab- 
sence of  which  is  necessary  to  the  perfection  of  his  system  ; 
and  in  setting  his  face  against  these,  he  discountenances  a 
great  number  of  things  very  inimical  to  higher  speculations. 
But  he  was  no  more  a  fit  representative  of  what  human 
nature  largely  requires,  and  may  reasonably  hope  to  attain  to, 
than  negative  represents  positive,  or  the  clearing  away  a 
ground  in  the  back-settlements,  and  setting  to  work  upon  it, 
represents  the  work  in  its  completion.  Something  of  the 
pettiness  and  materiality  of  his  first  occupation  always  stuck 

*  Thomson's  phrase,  in  the  Castle  of  Indolence,  speaking  of  a 
miserly  money-getter : 

"  '  A  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got ;' 

Firm  to  this  scoundrel  maxim  kccpeth  he, 

No  of  its  rigor  will  he  bate  a  jot, 

Till  it  bath  quench'd  his  fire  and  and  banished  his  pot." 

The  reader  will  not  imagine  that  I  suppose  all  money-makers  to  be 
of  this  description.  Very  gallant  spirits  are  to  be  found,  among  them, 
who  only  take  to  this  mode  of  activity  for  want  of  a  better,  and  are  as 
generous  in  disbursing  as  ihey  are  vigorous  in  acquiring.  You  may 
always  know  the  common  run,  as  in  other  instances,  by  the  soreness 
with  which  they  feel  attacks  on  the  body  corporate. 

For  the  assertion  that  Dr.  Franklin  cut  olT  his  son  with  a  shilling, 
my  only  authority  is  family  tradition.  It  is  observable,  however,  that 
the  friendliest  of  his  biographers  are  not  only  forced  to  admit  that  he 
seemed  a  little  too  fond  of  money,  but  notice  the  mysterious  secrecy  in 
which  his  family  history  is  involved. 


CHARACTER  OF  FRANKLIN.  J31 

to  him.  He  took  nothing  for  a  truth  or  a  matter-of-fact  that 
he  could  not  handle,  as  it  were,  like  his  types  :  and  yet,  like 
all  men  of  this  kind,  he  Avas  liable,  when  put  out  of  the 
ordinary  pale  of  his  calculations,  to  fall  into  the  greatest 
errors,  and  substitute  the  integrity  of  his  reputation  for  that 
of  whatsoever  he  chose  to  do.  From  never  doing  wrong  in 
little  things,  he  conceived  that  he  could  do  no  wrong  in 
great ;  and,  in  the  most  deliberate  act  of  his  life,  he  showed 
he  had  grievously  mistaken  himself  He  was,  I  allow,  one 
of  the  cardinal  great  men  of  his  time.  He  was  Prudence. 
But  he  was  nol^  what  he  took  himself  for — all  the  other 
Virtues  besides  ;  and,  inasmuch  as  he  was  deficient  in  those, 
he  was  deficient  even  in  his  favorite  one.  He  was  not  Tem- 
perance ;  for,  in  the  teeth  of  his  capital  recommendations  of 
that  virtue,  he  did  not  scruple  to  get  burly  and  big  with  the 
enjoyments  that  he  cared  for.  He  was  not  Justice  ;  for  he 
knew  not  how  to  see  fair  play  between  his  own  wisdom  and 
that  of  a  thousand  wants  and  aspirations,  of  which  he  knew 
nothing  :  and  he  cut  ofi'  his  son  with  a  shilling,  for  differing 
with  him  in  politics.  Lastly,  he  was  not  Fortitude  ;  for 
having  few  passions  and  no  imagination,  he  knew  not  what 
it  was  to  be  severely  tried  ;  and  if  he  had  been  there  is  every 
reason  to  conclude,  from  the  way  in  which  he  treated  his 
son,  that  his  self-love  w'ould  have  been  the  part  in  which  he 
felt  the  torture  ;  that  as  his  Justice  was  only  arithmetic,  so 
his  Fortitudo  would  have  been  nothing  but  stubbofnness. 

If  Franklin  had  been  the  only  great  man  of  his  time,  he 
would  merely  have  contributed  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
system,  and  so  hurt  the  world  by  prolonging  it  ;  but,  luckily, 
there  were  the  French  and  English  philosophers  besides, 
who  saw  farther  than  he  did,  and  provided  for  higher  wants. 
I  feel  grateful  to  him,  for  one,  inasmuch  as  he  extended  the 
Bphere  of  liberty,  and  helped  to  clear  the  earth  of  the  weeds 
of  sloth  and  ignorance,  and  the  wild  beasts  of  superstition  ; 
but  when  he  comes  to  build  final  homes  for  us,  T  rejoice  that 
wiser  hands  interfere.  His  line  and  rule  are  not  every  thing ; 
they  are  not  even  a  tenth  part  of  it.  Cocker's  numbers 
are  good  ;  but  those  of  Plato  and  Pythagoras  have  their 
merits  too,  or  wo  should  have  been  made  of  dry  bones  and 


132  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

tangents,  and  not  had  the  fancies  in  our  heads,  and  the 
hearts  beating  ni  our  bosoms,  that  make  us  what  we  arc. 
We  should  not  even  have  known  that  Cocker's  numbers 
were  worth  any  thing  ;  nor  would  Dr.  Franklin  himself  have 
played  on  the  harmonica,  albeit  he  must  have  done  it  in 
a  style  very  difierent  from  that  of  Milton  or  Cimarosa. 
Finally,  the  writer  of  this  passage  on  the  Doctor  would  not 
have  ventured  to  give  his  opinion  of  so  great  a  man  in  so 
explicit  a  manner.  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  give  it, 
had  I  not  been  backed  by  so  many  powerful  interests  of 
humanity,  and  had  I  not  suffered  in  common,  and  more  than  , 
in  common,  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  from  a  system  which, 
under  the  guise  of  economy  and  social  advantage,  tends  to 
double  the  love  of  wealth  and  the  hostility  of  competition, 
to  force  the  best  things  down  to  a  level  with  the  worst,  and 
to  reduce  mankind  to  the  simplest  and  most  mechanical  law 
of  their  nature,  divested  of  its  heart  and  soul — the  lavi^  of 
being  in  motion.  Most  of  the  advantages  of  the  present 
system  of  money-making,  which  may  be  called  the  great  lay 
superstition  of  modei-n  times,  might  be  obtained  by  a  fifth 
part  of  the  labor,  if  more  equally  distributed.  Yet  all  the 
advantages  could  not  be  so  obtained  ;  and  the  system  is 
necessary  as  a  portion  of  the  movement  of  time  and  progress, 
and  as  the  ultimate  means  of  dispensing  with  its  very  self 

Among  those  with  whom  my  book  made  me  acquainted, 
v/as  the  late  Rev.  Mr.  Maurice,  of  the  British  Museum, 
author  of"  Indian  Antiquities."  I  mention  him  more  partic- 
ularly, as  I  do  others,  because  he  had  a  character  of  his  own, 
and  makes  a  portrait.  I  had  seen  an  engraving  of  him, 
representing  a  slender,  prim-eyed,  enamel  faced  person,  very 
tightly  dressed  and  particular,  with  no  expression  but  that 
of  propriety.  What  was  my  surprise,  when  I  beheld  a 
short,  chubby,  good-humored  companion,  with  boyish  features, 
and  a  lax  dress  and  manner,  heartily  glad  to  see  you,  and 
tender  over  his  wine  I  He  was  a  sort  of  clerical  Horace. 
He  might,  by  some  freak  of  patronage,  have  been  made  a 
bishop  ;  and  he  thought  he  deserved  it  for  having  proved 
the  identity  of  the  Hindoo  with  the  Christian  Trinity,  which 
was  the  object  of  his  book  I      But  he  began  to  despond  on 


AUTHOR  OF  "INDIAN  ANTIQUITIES."  133 

that  point,  when  I  knew  him ;  and  he  drank  as  much  wine 
for  sorrow,  as  he  would,  had  he  been  made  a  bishop,  for  joy. 
He  was  a  man  of  a  social  and  overflowing  nature-;  more 
fit,  in  truth,  to  set  an  example  of  charity  than  faith  ;  and 
would  have  made  an  excellent  Brainin  of  the  Pvama-Deeva 
worship. 

Maurice's  Hymns  to  the  Gods  of  India  were  as  good  as 
Sir  William  Jones's,  and  his  attention  to  the  amatory  the- 
ology of  the  country  (allowing  for  his  deficiency  in  the  lan- 
guage) as  close.      He  was  not  so  fortunate  as  Sir  William 
in  retaining  a  wife  whom  he  loved.      I   have  heard   him 
lament,  in  very  genuine  terms,  his  widowed  condition,  and 
the  task  of  finishing  the  great  manuscript  catalogue  of  the 
Museum  books,  to  which  his  office  had  bound  him.      This 
must  have  been  a  torture,  physical  as  well  as  moral  ;   for  he 
had  weak  eyes,  and  wrote  with  a  magnifying-glass  as  big 
round  as  the  palm  of  his  hand.      With  this,  in  a  tall  thick 
handwriting,  as  if  painting  a  set  of  rails,  he  was  to  finish 
the  folio  catalogues,  and  had  produced  the  seven  volumes  of 
Indian  Antiquities  I      Nevertheless,  he  seemed  to  lament  his 
destiny,  rather  in  order  to  accommodate  the  weakness  of  his 
lachrymal  organs,  than  out  of  any  mental  uneasiness  ;  for 
with  the  aspect  he  had  the  spirits  of  a  boy  ;   and  his  laugh- 
ter would  follow  his  tears  with  a  happy  incontinence.      He 
was  always  catching  cold,  and  getting  well  of  it  after  dinner. 
Many  a  roast  fowl  and  bottle  of  wine  have  I  enjoyed  with 
Thomas  Maurice  in  his  rooms  at  the  British  Museum  ;   and 
if  I  thought  the  reader,  as  well  as  myself,  had  not  a  regard 
for  him,  1  would  not  have  opened  their  doors.      They  Avere 
in   a  turret  in   the  court-yard   walls,   and   exist,   alas  I    no 
longer.      I  never  passed  them,  without  remembering  how  he 
used  to  lay  down  his  magnifying-glass,  take  both  my  hands, 
and  condescend  to   anticipate  the  pleasant  chat  we  should 
have  about  authors  and  books  over  his  wine  ;   I  say,  con- 
descend, because,  though  he  did  not  aflect  any  thing  of  that 
sort,  it  was  a  remarkable  instance  of  his  good-nature,  and 
his  freedom  from  pride,  to  place  himself  on  a  level  in  this 
manner   with    a   youth   in   his    teens,   and   pretend   that   I 
brought  him  as  much  amusement  as  he  gave.      Owing  to 


134  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

the  cxclasive  notions  I  entertained  of  friendship,  I  mystified 
him  by  answering  the  "  Dear  sirs"  of  his  letters  in  a  more 
formal  manner.  I  fear  it.  induced  him  to  make  unfavorable 
comparisons  of  my  real  disposition  with  my  behavior  at 
table  ;  and  it  must  be  allowed,  that  having  no  explanation 
on  the  subject,  he  had  a  right  to  be  mystified.  Somehow 
or  other  (I  believe  it  was  because  a  new  Dulcinea  called  me 
elsewhere),  the  acquaintance  dropped,  and  I  did  not  sea  him 
for  many  years. 

He  died,  notwithstanding  his  wine  and  his  catarrhs,  at  a 
good  old  age,  writing  verses  to  the  last,  and  showing  what  a 
young  heart  he  retained  by  his  admiration  of  nature  :  and 
undoubtedly  this  it  was  that  enabled  him  to  live  so  long  ; 
for  though  the  unfeeling  are  apt  to  outlast  the  sensitive  dur 
ing  a  sophisticate  and  perplexing  state  of  society,  it  is  as 
tonishing  how  long  a  cordial  pulse  will  keep  playing,  if  allowed 
reasonably  to  have  its  way.  Were  the  lives  of  mankind  as 
natural  as  they  should  be,  and  their  duties  rendered  as  cheer- 
ful, the  Maurices  and  Horaces  would  outlast  all  the  formalists 
buttoned  up  in  denial,  as  surely  as  the  earth  spins  round,  and 
the  pillars  fall. 

I  wish  I  could  relate  half  the  stories  Mr.  Maurice  told- 
me.  He  told  them  well,  and  I  should  have  been  glad  to 
repeat  them  in  his  own  words.  I  recollect  but  one,  which 
I  shall  tell  for  his  sake,  though  it  is  not  without  a  jest.  1 
hope  it  is  not  old.  He  said  there  was  a  gentleman,  not  very 
robust,  but  an  enthusiast  for  nature  and  good  health,  who 
entertained  a  prodigious  notion  of  the  efl'ects  of  smelling  to 
fresh  earth.*  Accordingly,  not  to  go  too  nicely  about  the 
matter,  but  to  do  it  like  a  man,  he  used  to  walk  every  morning 

*  Bacon  had  a  notion  of  this  sort,  and  would  have  a  piece  of  earth 
brought  him  fresh  out  of  the  ground  to  smell  to  ;  but  then  he  put  wine 
to  it.  I  fancy  I  hear  JNIr.  Maurice  exclaiming,  "  Ah,  he  was  a  great 
man  !"  There  was  a  pomp  and  altitude  in  the  ways  of  Bacon,  and 
all  in  the  highest  taste,  that  serves  almost  to  reconcile  us  to  Cowley's 
conceit,  in  styling  him  "  A'ature's  Lord  Chancellor."  His  house  and 
gardens  were  poetically  magnificent.  He  had  the  flowers  in  season 
always  put  upon  his  table ;  sometimes  had  music  in  the  next  I'oora 
while  he  was  writing ;  and  would  ride  out  in  an  open  chariot  during 
the  rain,  with  his  head  bare,  saying,  '•  he  felt  the  spirit  of  the  universe 
upon  him  !'' 


LLWYU   AUTHOR  OF  "BEAUMARIS  BAY."  135 

to  PriiDTose-hill ;  and,  digging  a  hole  of  a  good  depth  in  the 
ground,  prostrate  himSelf,  and  put  his  head  in  it.  The  loufrer 
he  kept  his  head  immersed,  the  more  benefit  he  thought  he 
derived  ;  so  that  he  would  lie  for  several  minutes,  and  look 
like  a  Persian  adoring  the  sun.  One  day  somQ  thieves  set 
upon  him,  and,  retaining  his  head  under  that  salutary  re 
Btriction,  picked  his  pockets. 

Mr.  Maurice  got  me  permission  to  read  in  the  Museum  ; 
which  I  did  regularly  for  some  time.  It  was  there  I  began 
to  learn  Italian.  I  obtained  the  same  privilege  for  a  person 
who  became  one  of  its  most  enthusiastic  visitors,  and  who  is 
worthy  describing.  His  name  is  Llwyd  (for  he  would  ac- 
count it  treason  to  his  country  to  write  it  Lloyd),  and  he  is 
author,  among  other  pieces,  of  a  poem  entitled  "  Beaumaris 
Bay,"  which  obtained  a  great  deal  of  praise  from  the  critics. 
I  say  "  is,"  because  I  hope  he  is  alive  to  read  this  account 
of  himself,  and  to  attribute  it  (as  he  assuredly  will  do)  to  its 
proper  motives.  My  Llwyd  was  probably  between  thirty 
and  forty  when  I  knew  him.  His  face  and  manner  of 
speaking  were  as  Ancient  British  as  he  could  desire  ;  but 
these  merits  he  possessed  in  common  with  others.  What 
rendered  him  an  extraordinary  person  was,  that  he  raised 
himself,  by  dint  of  his  talents  and  integrity,  from  the  situa- 
tion of  a  gentleman's  servant  to  a  footing  with  his  superiors, 
and  they  were  generous  and  wise  enough  to  acknowledge  it. 
From  what  I  was  told,  nothing  could  be  better  done  on  all 
sides.  They  encouraged,  and,  I  believe,  enabled  him  to 
make  good  his  position ;  and  he  gave  the  best  proof  of  his 
right  to  it,  by  the  delicacy  of  his  acquiescence.  His  dress 
wag  plain  and  decent,  equally  remote  from  sordidness  and 
pretension ;  and  his  manners  posseted  that  natural  good- 
breeding  which  results  from  the  wish  to  please  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  respected.  Mr.  Llwyd  came  to  London 
at  certain  periods,  took  an  humble  lodging,  and  passed  his 
time  in  visiting  his  friends,  and  reading  at  the  Museum. 
His  passion  was  for  the  antiquities  of  his  native  country.  If 
you  looked  over  his  book,  it  was  most  probably  full  of  the 
coat-armor  of  Wynnes  and  Prices. 

I  was  indebted  to  Mr.  Llwyd  for  an  introduction  to  his 


136  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

friend  Mr.  Owen,  translator  of  the  Paradise  Last  into  Welsh, 
Both  of  them  were  of  the  order  of  Bards  ;  and  Mr.  Owen 
carried  the  same  seal  of  his  British  origin  in  his  face  and 
manners,  and  appeared  to  possess  the  same  simplicity  and 
goodness.  Furthermore,  he  had  a  Welsh  harp  in  his  room, 
and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  him  play  upon  it.  He 
was  not  very  like  Gray's  bard  :  and  instead  of  Conway's  flood, 
and  a  precipice,  and  an  army  coming  to  cut  our  throats,  we 
had  tea  and  bread  and  butler,  and  a  snug  parlor  with  books 
in  it.  Notwithstanding  my  love  of  Gray,  and  a  consider- 
able wish  to  see  a  proper  ill-used  bard,  I  thought  this  a  bet- 
ter thing,  though  I  hardly  know  whether  my  friends  did. 
I  am  not  sure,  with  all  their  good-nature,  whether  they 
would  not  have  preferred  a  good  antiquarian  death,  with  the 
opportunity  of  calling  King  Edward  a  rascal,  and  playing 
their  harps  at  him,  to  all  the  Saxon  conveniences  of  modern 
times. 

But  I  must  speak  a  little  of  events  as  well  as  persons. 

The  respect  which,  in  matters  of  religion,  I  felt  for  the 
"  spirit  which  giveth  life,"  in  preference  to  the  "letter  which 
killcth,"  received  a  curious  corroboration  from  a  circumstance 
which  I  witnessed  on  board  a  Margate  hoy.  Having  nothing 
to  do,  after  the  publication  of  my  poor  volume,  but  to  read 
and  to  look  about  me,  a  friend  proposed  an  excursion  to 
Brighton.  We  were  to  go  first  to  Margate,  and  then  walk 
the  rest  of  the  way  by  the  sea-side,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  air. 

We  took  places  accordingly  in  the  first  hoy  that  was 
about  to  sail,  and  speedily  found  ourselves  seated  and  moving. 
We  thought  the  passengers  a  singularly  staid  set  of  people 
for  holiday-makers,  and  could  not  account  for  it.  The  im- 
pression by  degrees  grew  so  strong,  that  we  resolved  to 
inquire  into  the  reason  ;  and  it  was  with  no  very  agreeable 
feelings,  that  we  found  ourselves  fixed  for  tlie  day  on  board 
what  was  called  the  "  Methodist  hoy."  The  vessel,  it 
seems,  was  under  the  particular  patronage  of  the  sect  of 
that  denomination;  and  it  professed  to  sail  "by  Divine' 
Providence." 

Dinner  brought  a  little  more  hilarity  into  the  faces  of  these 


DEVOUT  MARGATE  HOY.  137 

children  of  heaven.  One  innocently  proposed  a  game  at 
riddles ;  another  entertained  a  circle  of  heai'ers  by  a  question 
in  arithmetic  ;  a  third  (or  the  same  person,  if  I  remember — 
a  very  dreary  gentleman)  raised  his  voice  into  some  remarks 
on  "  athei?ts  and  deists,"  glancing,  while  he  did  it,  at  the 
small  knot  of  the  uninitiated  who  had  got  together  in  self- 
defense  ;  on  which  a  fourth  gave  out  a  hymn  of  Dr.  Watts's, 
which  says  that 

"  Religion  never  was  designed 
To  make  our  pleasures  less." 

It  was  sung,  I  must  say  in  a  tone  of  the  most  impartial 
misery,  as  if  on  purpose  to  contradict  the  opinion. 

Thus  passed  the  hours,  between  formality,  and  eating  and 
drinking,  and  psalm-singing,  and  melancholy  attempts  at  a 
little  mirth,  till  night  came  on  ;  Avhen  our  godly  friends 
vanished  below  into  their  berths.  The  wind  was  against 
us  :  we  beat  out  to  sea,  and  had  a  taste  of  some  cold  au- 
tumnal weather.  Such  of  us  as  were  not  prepared  for  this, 
adjusted  ourselves  as  well  as  we  could  to  the  occasion,  or 
paced  about  the  deck  to  warm  ourselves,  not  a  little  amused 
with  a  small  crew  of  sailors  belonging  to  the  vessel,  who  sat 
together  singing  songs  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  in  order  that 
the  psalm-singers  below  might  not  hear  them. 

During  one  of  these  pacings  about  the  deck,  my  foot 
came  in  contact  with  a  large  bundle  which  lay  as  much  out 
of  the  way  as  possible,  but  which  I  had  approached  una- 
wares. On  stooping  to  see  what  it  was,  I  found  it  was  a 
woman.  She  was  sleeping,  and  her  clothes  were  cold  and 
damp. 

As  the  captain  could  do  nothing  for  her,  except  refer  me 
to  the  "  gentlefolks"  below,  in  case  any  room  could  be  made 
for  her  in  their  dormitory,  I  repaired  below  accordingly  ;  and 
with  something  of  a  malicious  benevolence,  persisted  in 
waking  every  sleeper  in  succession,  and  stating  the  woman's 
case. 

Not  a  soul  would  stir.  They  had  paid  for  their  places  : 
the  woman  should  have  done  the  same  ;  and  so  they  left 
her  to  the  care  of  the  "  Providence,"  under  which  they 
Bailed. 


133  LIFi:  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

I  do  not  wish  to  insinuate  by  this  story  that  many  excel- 
lent people  have  not  been  Methodists.  All  I  mean  to  say 
is,  that  here  was  a  whole  Margate  hoy  full  of  them  ;  that 
they  had  feathered  their  nests  well  below ;  that  the  night 
was  trying  ;  that  to  a  female  it  might  be  dangerous  ;  and 
that  not  one  of  them,  nevertheless,  would  stir  to  make  room 
for  her. 

As  Methodism  is  a  fact  of  the  past,  and  of  the  present,  I 
trust  it  may  have  had  its  uses.  The  degrees  of  it  are  vari- 
ous, from  the  blackest  hue  of  what  is  called  Calvinistic 
Methodism  to  colors  little  distinguishable  from  the  mildest 
and  pleasantest  of  conventional  orthodoxy.  Accidents  of 
birth,  breeding,  brain,  heart,  and  temperament  make  worlds 
of  difference  in  this  respect,  as  in  all  others.  But  where 
the  paramount  doctrine  of  a  sect,  whatever  it  may  profess 
to  include,  is  Self-preservation,  and  where  this  paramount 
doctrine,  as  it  needs  must  when  actually  paramount,  blunts 
in  very  self-defense  the  greatest  final  sympathies  with  one's 
fellow-creatures,  the  transition  of  ideas  is  easy  from  unfeel- 
ingness  in  a  future  state  to  unfeelingness  in  the  present;  and 
it  becomes  a  very  little  thing  indeed  to  let  a  woman  lie  out 
in  the  cold  all  night,  while  saints  are  snoozing  away  in 
comfort. 

My  companion  and  I,  much  amused,  and  not  a  little 
indignant,  took  our  way  from  Ramsgate  along  the  coasv, 
turning  cottages  into  inns  as  our  hunger  compelled  us,  sleep- 
ing at  night  the  moment  we  laid  our  heads  on  our  pillows, 
and  making  such  prodigious  breakfasts,  that  in  one  instance 
we  had  a  consultation  whether  we  should  muster  up  face 
enough  to  ask  for  more  toast.  The  rapid  answer  of  the 
waiter,  and  his  total  unconsciousness  of  our  feelings,  highly 
delighted  us.  We  did  not  consider,  that  the  vaster  the 
orders,  the  more  reasonable  he  would  think  us. 

We  passed  Pegwell  Bay,  famous  for  shrimps;  Sandwich, 
once  famous  for  oysters  ;  Deal,  where  I  thought  of  the  por- 
poises ;  Dover,  where  we  looked  over  the  cliff,  visited  the 
castle,  and  were  saluted  by  something  that  came  tinkling 
down  in  the  air  (a  prisoner's  money-box  on  a  string);  Folke- 
etone,   Ilythe,    Dymchurch  ;    New  Romney,  an  old  place  ; 


A  LIVER  AT  L\N"S.  139 

Pevensey,  where  we  poked  about  the  ruins  of  a  castle  ; 
Lewes  and  the  river  Ouse,  a  name  that  seems  common  to 
muddy  places  ;  Beachey-Head,  where  Charlotte  Smith  picked 
flowers  and  wrote  pretty  sonnets  ;  and  so  came  to  Brighton, 
where  we  put  up  at  the  "  Ship,"  and  got  acquainted  with  a 
regular  inn-living  gentleman. 

This  personage  had  a  red  face,  a  good  appetite,  and  some 
prevailing  ailment  which  he  soothed  with  sea-air,  and  exas- 
perated with  good  living.  He  had  his  meals  set  forth  in 
the  nicest  manner ;  was  thin  and  irritable,  though  good- 
natured  ;  seemed  to  pass  half  of  his  morning  in  thinking  of 
what  he  should  eat,  and  seeing  to  it  himself ;  and  was  very 
glad  after  dinner  if  you  would  talk  to  him,  and  amuse  him, 
and  listen  to  what  he  thought  wholesome,  and  judicieus,  and 
comme  il  faut. 

I  recollect  nothing  else  of  Brighton,  except  that  the  Prince 
of  Wales  used  to  be  there.  Perhaps  this  was  the  reason 
why  our  red-faced  friend  chose  it  for  his  watering-place. 
He  was  just  the  man  to  hover  on  the  borders  of  high  life, 
and  love  to  repose  himself  by  the  side  of  a  polite,  a  princely, 
and  an  epicurean  satisfaction.  I  should  take  him  to  have 
been  a  retired  confectioner ;  or  a  clerk  in  Doctors  Commons, 
or  the  Herald's  Office  ;  or  the  son  of  some  agent  of  all  work, 
who  had  claims  on  the  nobility,  which  he  took  out  in  a  sense 
of  the  connection. 

At  Dover,  while  being  shown  through  the  corridors  in 
the  rock,  we  were  struck  by  a  deep  voice  which  suddenly 
opened  above  our  heads.  Looking  up,  we  saw  a  head  and 
shoulders  leaning  out  of  a  corridor  above,  and  reading  a.. 
book  by  the  light  of  an  orifice  still  higher.  It  was  some- 
body reading  the  Bible  to  some  soldiers.  Such  at  least  is 
my  recollection. 

At  Pevensey,  a  landlord  on  a  Sunday  morning  was  so 
charmed  with  our  exploits  in  the  breakfast  line,  that  he  did 
all  he  could  to  make  us  stop  dinner  by  enlarging  on  the 
merits  of  the  village  preacher.  He  lamented  the  loss  we 
should  have  of  so  admirable  a  sermon  ;  said  every  body  came 
to  hear  him  ;  that  we  were  in  luck  to  be  on  the  spot,  &;c. 
At  length,  finding  his   rhetoric  of  no  avail  on  the  spirilua.' 


IP' 


140  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

side,  he  coiicliuled  by  describing  the  charming  piece  of  beef 
in  his  larder. 

Not  so  hospitable  was  a  farm-house  in  Pevensey  Marsh.  We 
reached  it  benighted,  and  being  much  fatigued,  and  desirous 
of  going  no  farther,  knocked  and  re-knocked  for  a  chance  of 
admission,  but  in  A-^ain.  AVe  saw,  through  a  hole  in  the 
door,  a  party  of  men  and  women  seated  by  a  hearth  ;  but 
they  would  not  attend  to  us.  At  length,  on  our  knocking 
louder,  and  bawling  through  the  hole,  they  bade  us,  with 
insolent  speeches,  to  be  gone.  We  departed  in  disgust, 
shaking  the  dust  (or  mud)  ofi'  our  feet,  and  wondering  at  the 
state  of  existing  virtue,  when  such  honest  people  as  ourselves 
could  be  refused  a  night's  lodging.  But  to  say  nothing  of 
want  of  room,  honest,  or  at  any  rate  legal  people,  were  per- 
haps those  they  most  objected  to.  They  may  have  taken 
us  for  emissaries  of  the  custom-house.  The  whole  region 
thereabouts  was  a  great  anticipator  of  free-trade. 

These  little  incidents  and  characters  that  we  met  with  in 
our  journey,  reminded  us  of  passages  in  Fielding  and  his 
brother  novelists.  They  lay  in  the  same  path  of  reality. 
Fielding  and  Smollett  did  but  meet  with  similar  things, 
and  describe  them  better.  One  little  passage,  insignificant 
in  itself,  or  only  amusing  from  its  apparent  carica  cure,  was 
identical  Avith  one  that  wc  had  met  with  in  books  ;  and  I 
here  relate  it,  to  show  how  a  seeming  caricature  may  be 
simple  matter  of  fact.  Inquiring  our  way  of  a  countryman, 
he  began  his  answer  by  inquiring  in  turn  which  way  we 
came.  On  obtaining  that  favorite  and  superfluous  piece  of 
information,  he  directed  us  to  go  by  "  Miss  Shore's  house." 
We  asked  whereabouts  we  should  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Miss  Shore's  house,  and  what  sort  of  house  it  was.  "Lord  I" 
cried  he,  in  amazement,  "  What  I  don't  you  know  Miss 
Shore's  house  ?" 

These  absurd  answers  were  precisely  the  same  they  had 
been  a  hundred  years  before  ;  probably  a  thousand  or  ten 
thousand.  Chaucer  met  with  them  on  the  road  to  Canter- 
bury. Kow  Moo  gave  them  in  China  to  Confucius.  They 
are  the  last  local  oracles  that  will  retreat  before  the  diffusion 
of  knowledge  I 


DANGERS  OF  DELAYS.  141 

The  length  of  this  journey,  which  did  us  good,  we  reclc- 
oned  to  be  a  hundred  and  twelve  miles  ;  and  we  did  it  in 
lour  days,  which  was  not  bad  walking.  But  the  brother 
whom  I  have  mentioned  as  still  living,  has  gone  a  hundred 
miles  in  two.  lie  also,  when  a  lad,  kept  up  at  a  kind  of 
trotting  pace  with  a  friend's  horse  all  the  way  from  Finchley 
to  Pinilico.      His  limbs  were  admirably  well  set. 

The  friend  who  was  my  companion  in  this  journey  had 
not  been  long  known  to  me  ;  but  he  was  full  of  good  quali- 
ties. He  died  a  few  years  afterward  in  France,  where  he 
unhappily  found  hirjjself  among  his  countrymen  whom 
Bonaparte  so  iniquitously  detained  at  the  commencement 
of  the  second  war.  He  was  brother  of  my  old  fi-iend  Henry 
.Robertson,  treasurer  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  in  whose 
company  and  that  of  Vincent  Novello,  Charles  Cowden 
Clarke,  and  other  gifted  and  estimable  men,  I  have  en- 
joyed some  of  the  most  harmonious  evenings  of  my  life,  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  Toward  the  latter  part  of  his 
detention  he  wrote  me  a  letter  which  I  delayed  answering, 
till  answer  was  of  no  use  ;  and  I  mention  the  circumstance, 
%nd  shall  notice  another  instance  or  two  of  procrastination  on 
my  part,  in  case  they  may  serve,  even  on  one  single  occasion, 
to  give  a  casting  vote  in  favor  of  promptness  to  some  reader, 
who  may  be  doubting  whether  he  shall  procrastinate  or  not. 
For  out  of  a  single  moment  so  delayed  may  spring  hundreds 
full  of  regret.  I  have  already  noticed  one,  in  speaking  of  a 
schoolfellow.  A  third  delay  in  writing  a  letter  caused  me 
still  greater  pain  on  a  similar  account ;  and  for  nearly  fifty 
years  I  have  had  a  pang  now  and  then  come  over  me  for 
not  having  posted  a  letter  which  was  given  me  for  that 
purpose  by  my  mother.  It -was  to  my  eldest  brother,  who 
had  been  "  wild."  He  was  then  in  America,  and  has  never 
been  heard  of  since.  I  never  posted  that  letter  at  all ;  and 
finding  it  months  afterward  in  my  possession  I  did,  what  I 
hope  nobody  will  believe  me  capable  of  doing  on  any  dis- 
similar occasion,  o])encd  it,  in  order  to  sec  what  amount  of 
evil  I  may  have  caused,  and  to  make  the  confession  of  hav- 
ing done  so  to  the  writer,  in  case  of  necessity.  Fortunately 
it  was  onlv  a  letter  of  affection  and  general  advice,  and   I 


142  LIFE  OF  LEIGH   HUNT. 

said  nothing  about  it.  But  as  my  mother,  for  aught  I  know 
to  the  contrar)',  never  again  heard  of  her  son,  how  was  I  to 
be  certain  that  the  want  of  the  letter  might  not  have  done 
him  some  injury,  and  caused  anguish  to  herself  from  his 
silence  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  make  mountains  of  molehills,  or 
to  pretend  that  I  may  never  have  caused  pain  to  others,  of 
a  worse  nature  than  this.  Perhaps  I  have,  though  with  as 
little  intention  ;  for  deliberately,  or  apart  from  unforeseen 
consequences  of  thoughtlessness  and  vanity,  I  never  distressed 
human  being  ;  and  as  I  have  undergone  my  distresses  in 
turn,  and  hope  I  have  not  lived  altogether  for  nothing,  I 
comfort  myself  and  am  comforted,  as  I  would  have  all  the 
world  comfort  one  another.  I  have  found  myself  in  my  time 
on  jarring  ground  with  acquaintances  ;  I  have  been  prepos- 
terously misrepresented  by  enemies  ;  but  I  never  ended  with 
losing  the  good-will  of  friends.  I  must  add,  as  some  diminu- 
tion of  my  ofl'ense  in  not  answering  the  above  letters,  that  I 
had  always  intended  to  do  so,  and  that  the  delay  was  partly 
caused  by  my  wishing  to  do  it  in  the  fullest  manner  ;  but 
what  signify  intentions,  half  occasioned,  perhaps,  by  a  sense 
of  our  importance,  if  a  friend  is  to  die  under  the  impression 
of  his  being  neglected  ? 

Let  me  revert  to  a  pleasanter  recollection.  The  com- 
panion of  my  journey  to  Brighton,  and  another  brother  of 
his,  who  was  afterward  in  the  commissariat  (they  are  all 
dead,  except  my  friend  of  Covent  Garden),  set  up  a  little 
club,  to  which  I  belonged,  called  the  "Elders,"  from  our  re 
gard  for  the  wine  of  that  name,  with  hot  goblets  of  which 
we  finished  the  evening.  Not  the  wine  so  called,  which  you 
buy  in  the  shops,  and  which  is  a  mixture  of  brandy  and  ver- 
juice ;  but  the  vintage  of  the  genuine  berry,  which  is 
admired  wherever  it  is  known,  and  which  the  ancients  un- 
questionably symbolized  under  the  mystery  of  the  Bearded 
Bacchus,  the  senior  god  of  that  name, 

Brother  of  Bacchus,  elder  born. 

The  great  Boerhaave  held  the  tree  in  such  pleasant  rever- 
ence fcr  the  multitude  of  its  virtues,  that  he  is  said  to  have 
taken  off  his  hat  Avhenever  he  passed  it. 


THE  "ELDERS."  143 

Be  this  as  it  may,  so  happily  it  sent  us  to  our  beds, 
with  such  an  extraordinary  twofold  inspiration  of  Bacchus 
and  Soninus,  that  falling  to  sleep  we  would  dream  half 
an  hour  after  of  the  last  iest,  and  wake  up  again  in 
laughter. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PLAYGOING  AND  VOLUNTEERS. 

Threatened  invasion  by  the  French. — The  St.  James's  Volunteers.— 
Sinijular  debut  of  their  colonel. — Satire  of  Foote. — A  taste  of  cam- 
paigning.— Recollections  of  the  stage  at  the  beginning  of  the  present 
centmy. — Farley,  De  Camp,  Miss  Do  Camp,  Emery,  Kelly  and 
Mrs.  Crouch,  Catalini,  Mrs.  Billington,  INIadame  Grassini,  Braham, 
Pasta  and  Lablache,  female  singers  in  general ;  Ambrogetti,  Vcstris 
the  dancer,  Parisot;  singing  and  dancing  in  former  times  and  pres- 
ent ;  Jack  Banister,  Faweett,  Munden,  Elliston,  Mathews,  Dowton, 
Cooke,  the  Kembles  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  IMrs.  Jordan. — Playgo- 
ing  in  youth. — Critical  playgoing. — Playgoing  in  general  not  what 
it  was. — Social  position  of  actors  in  those  times. — John  Kemble  and 
a  noble  lord  at  a  book-sale. — Earl  Spencer. 

A  KNOCK  at  the  doors  of  all  England  woke  us  up  from 
our  dreams.  It  was  Bonaparte,  threatening  to  come  among 
us,  and  bidding  us  put  down  "  that  glass." 

The  "  Elders,"  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  world, 
were  moved  to  say  him  nay,  and  to  drink,  and  drill  them- 
selves, to  his  confusion. 

I  must  own  that  I  never  had  the  slightest  behcf  in  this: 
coming  of  Bonaparte.  It  did,  I  allow,  sometimes  appear  lo 
me  not  absolutely  impossible  ;  and  very  strange  it  was  to 
think  that  some  fine  morning  I  might  actually  find  myself 
face  to  face  with  a  parcel  of  Frenchmen  in  Kent  or  Sussex, 
instead  of  playing  at  soldiers  in  Piccadilly.  But  I  did  not 
believe  in  his  coming  ;  first,  because  I  thought  he  had  far 
wiser  things  to  attend  to  ;  secondly,  becau.?e  he  made  such 
an  ostentatious  show  of  it ;  and  thirdly,  because  I  felt,  that 
whatever  might  be  our  party  politics,  it  M'as  not  in  the  nature 
of  things  English  to  allow  it.  Nobody,  I  thought,  could  be- 
lieve it  possible,  who  did  but  see  and  hear  the  fine,  unaficct- 
ed,  manly  young  fellows,  that  composed  our  own  regiment  of 
volunteers,  the  St.  James's,  and  whose  counterparts  had  arisen 
in  swarms  all  over  the  country.      It  was  too  great  a  jest. 


THE  "VOLUNTEER."  145 

And  with  all  due  respect  for  French  valor,  I  think  so  to  this 
day. 

The  case  was  not  the  same  as  in  the  time  of  the  Normans. 
The  Normans  were  a  more  advanced  people  than  the  Saxons  ; 
they  possessed  a  familiar  and  family  interest  among  us ;  and 
they  had  even  a  right  to  the  throne.  But  in  the  year  1802, 
the  French  and  English  had,  for  centuries,  been  utterly  dis- 
tinct as  well  as  rival  nations ;  the  latter  had  twice  beaten 
the  French  on  French  ground,  and  under  the  greatest  disad- 
vantages ;  how  much  less  likely  were  they  to  be  beaten  on 
their  own,  under  every  circumstance  of  exasperation  ?  They 
were  an  abler-bodied  nation  than  the  French  ;  they  had  been 
bred  up,  however  erroneously,  in  a  contempt  for  them,  which 
(in  a  military  point  of  view)  was  salutary,  when  it  was  not 
careless  ;  and,  in  fine,  here  were  all  these  volunteers,  as 
well  as  troops  of  the  line,  taking  the  threat  with  an  ease  too 
Treat  even  to  laugh  at  it,  but  at  the  same  time  sedulously 
attending  to  their  drills,  and  manifestly  resolved,  if  the  strug- 
gle came,  to  make  a  personal  business  of  it,  and  see  which 
of  the  two  nations  had  the  greatest  pluck. 

The  volunteers  M'ould  not  even  take  the  trouble  of  patron- 
izing a  journal  that  was  set  up  to  record  their  movements  and 
to  flatter  their  self-respect.  A  word  of  praise  from  the  king, 
from  the  commander-in-chief,  or  the  colonel  of  the  regiment, 
was  well  enough  ;  it  was  all  in  the  way  of  business ,  but  why 
be  told  what  they  knew,  or  be  encouraged  when  they  did  not 
require  it  ?  Wags  used  to  say  of  the  journal  in  question, 
Avhich  was  called  the  Vohaitccr,  that  it  printed  only  one 
number,  sold  only  one  copy,  and  that  this  copy  had  been  pur- 
chased by  a  volunteer  drummer-boy.  The  boy,  seeing  the 
paper  set  out  for  sale,  exclaimed,  "  The  Volunteer !  why, 
I'm  a  volunteer;"  and  so  he  bought  that  solitary  image  of 
himself.  The  boy  was  willing  to  be  told  that  he  was  doing 
something  more  than  playing  at  soldiers  ;  but  what  was  this 
to  the  men  ? 

This  indiflerent  kind  of  self-respect  and  contentment  did 
nut  hinder  the  volunteers,  however,  from  having  a  good  deal 
of  pleasant  banter  of  one  another  among  themselves,  or  from 
feeling  that  there  was  something  now  and  then  among  them 

VOL.   I. — G 


MC  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ridiculous  in  respect  to  appearances.  A  gallant  officer  in 
our  regiment,  who  was  much  respected,  went  among  u.s  by 
the  name  of  Lieutenant  Molly,  on  account  of  the  delicacy  of 
his  complexion.  Another,  who  was  a  strict  disciplinarian, 
and  had  otherwise  a  spirit  of  love  for  the  profession,  as 
though  he  had  hcen  a  born  soldier,  was  not  spared  allusions 
to  his  balls  of  pcrfiunery.  Oar  major  (now  no  more),  was 
an  undertaker  in  Piccadilly,  of  the  name  of  Downs,  very  fat 
and  jovial,  yet  active  withal,  and  a  good  soldier.  He  had 
one  of  those  lively,  juvenile  faces  that  are  sometimes  observed 
in  people  of  a  certain  sleek  kind  of  corpulency.  This  ample 
field  oiRcer  was  "cut  and  come  again"  for  jokes  of  all  sorts. 
Nor  was  the  colonel  himself  spared,  though  he  was  a  highly 
respectable  nobleman,  and  nephew  to  an  actual  troop-of-the- 
line  conqueror,  the  victor  of  Montreal.  But  this  requires  a 
paragraph  or  two  to  itself. 

AVe  had  been  a  regiment  for  some  time,  without  a  colonel. 
The  colonel  was  always  about  to  be  declared,  but  declared 
he  was  not ;  and  meantime  we  mustered  about  a  thousand 
strong,  and  were  much  amazed,  .  and,  perhaps,  a  little 
indignant.  At  length  the  moment  arrived — the  colonel 
was  named ;  he  was  to  be  introduced  to  us ;  and  that 
nothing  might  be  wanting  to  our  dignity,  he  was  a  lord,  and 
a  friend  of  the  minister,  and  nephew  to  the  victor  afore- 
said. 

Our  parade  was  the  court-yard  of  Burlington  House. 
The  whole  regiment  attended.  We  occupied  three  sides  of 
the  ground.  In  front  of  us  were  the  great  gates,  longing  to 
be  opened.  Suddenly  the  word  is  given,  "  My  lord  is  at 
hand  I"  Open  burst  the  gates — up  strikes  the  music.  "  Pre- 
sent arms  I"  vociferates  the  major. 

In  dashes  his  lordship,  and  is  pitched  right  over  his  horse's 
liead  to  the  ground. 

It  was  the  most  unfortunate  anticlimax  that  could  have 
happened.  Skill,  grace,  vigor,  address,  example,  ascendency, 
mastery,  victory,  all  were,  in  a  manner,  to  have  been  pre- 
sented to  us  in  the  heroical  person  of  the  noble  colonel  ;  and 
here  they  were,  prostrated  at  our  feet — ejected — cast  out — 
humiliated — ground  to  the  earth  ;   subjected  (for  his  merciful 


A  TASTE  OF  CAMPAIGNING.  147 

construction)  to  the  least  fellow-soldier  that  stood  among  us, 
upright  on  his  feet. 

The  construction,  however,  was  accorded.  Every  body 
felt  indeed,  that  the  greatest  of  men  might  have  been  sub- 
jected to  the  accident.  It  was  the  horse,  not  he,  that  was 
in  fault — ^it  was  the  music — the  ringing  of  the  arms,  &c.  His 
spirit  had  led  him  to  bring  with  him  too  fiery  a  charger. 
Bucephalus  might  have  thrown  Alexander  at  such  a  moment. 
A  mole-hill  threw  William  the  Third.  A  man  might  con- 
quer Bonaparte,  and  yet  be  thrown  from  his  horse.  And 
the  conclusion  was  singularly  borne  out  in  another  qxiarter  ; 
for  no  conqueror,  I  believe,  whose  equitation  is  ascertained, 
ever  combined  more  numerous  victories  with  a  greater  num- 
ber of  falls  from  his  saddle,  than  his  lordship's  illustrious 
friend,  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

During  our  field-days,  which  sometimes  took  place  in  the 
neighborhood  celebrated  by  Footc  in  his  Mayor  of  Garrat, 
it  was  impossible  for  those  who  were  acquainted  v/ith  his 
writings,  not  to  think  of  his  city  trained-bands  and  their 
dreadful  "  marchings  and  counter-marchings  from  Acton  to 
Ealing,  and  from  Ealing  back  again  to  Acton."  We  were 
not  "  all  robbed  and  murdered,"  however,  as  we  returned 
home,  "  by  a  single  footpad."  We  returned,  not  by  the 
Ealing  stage,  but  in  right  warlike  style,  marching  and  dusty. 
We  had  even,  one  day,  a  small  taste  of  the  will  and  ap- 
petite of  campaigning.  Some  of  us,  after  a  sham-fight,  were 
hastening  toward  Acton,  in  a  very  rage  of  hunger  and  thirst, 
when  we  discerned  coming  toward  us  a  baker  with  a  basket 
full  of  loaves.  To  observe  the  man  ;  to  see  his  loaves  scat- 
tered on  the  ground  ;  to  find  ourselves,  each  with  one  of 
them  under  his  arm,  tearing  the  crumb  out,  and  pushing  on 
for  the  village,  heedless  of  the  cries  of  the  pursuing  baker, 
was  (in  the  language  of  the  novelists)  the  work  oi  a  mo- 
ment. Next  moment  we  found  ourselves  standing  in  the 
cellar  of  an  Acton  alehouse,  with  the  spigots  torn  out  of 
the  barrels,  and  every  body  helping  liimsclf  as  he  could. 
The  baker  and  the  beer-man  were  paid,  but  not  till  we 
chose  to  attend  to  them  ;  and  I  fully  comprehended,  even 
from    this    small    specimen    of   the   will    and  pleasure   of 


148  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

soldiers,  what  savages  they  could  become  on  graver  occa- 
Bions. 

In  this  St.  James's  regiment  of  volunteers  were  three 
persons  whom  I  looked  on  witli  great  interest,  for  they  were 
actors.  They  were  Farley,  Emery,  and  De  Camp,  all  well- 
known  performers  at  the  time.  The  first,  I  believe,  is  still 
living.  He  was  a  celebrated  melo-dramatic-actor,  remark- 
able for  combining  a  short,  sturdy  person  with  energetic 
activity  ;  for  which  reason,  if  I  am  not  miafeaken,  in  spite  of 
his  shortness  and  his  sturdiness,  he  had  got  into  the  Hfrht 
infantry  company,  where  I  think  I  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  standing  both  with  him  and  Mr.  De  Camp.  With  Dc 
Camp  certainly.  The  latter  was  brother  of  Miss  De  Camp, 
afterward  Mrs.  Charles  Kemble,  an  admirable  actress  in  the 
same  line  as  Farley,  and  in  such  characters  as  Beatrice  and 
Lucy  Lockitt.  She  had  a  beautiful  figure,  fine,  large,  dark 
eyes,  and  elevated  features,  fuller  of  spirit  than  softness,  but 
still  capable  of  expressing  great  tenderness.  Her  brother 
was  nobody  in  comparison  with  her,  though  he  was  clever 
in  his  way,  and  more  handsome.  But  it  was  a  sort  of  ef- 
feminate beauty,  which  made  him  look  as  if  he  ought  to 
have  been  the  sister,  and  she  the  brother.  It  was  said  of 
him,  in  a  comprehensive  bit  of  alliteration,  that  he  "  failed 
in  fops,  but  there  was  fire  in  his  footmen." 

The  third  of  these  histrionic  patriots,  Mr.  Emery,  was 
one  of  the  best  actors  of  his  kind  the  stage  ever  saw.  He 
excelled,  not  only  in  Yorkshiremen,  and  other  rustical  comic 
characters,  but  in  parts  of  homely  tragedy,  such  as  criminals 
of  the  lower  order,  whose  conscious  guilt  he  exhibited  with 
such  a  lively,  truthful  mixture  of  clownishness  in  the  mode 
and  intensity  in  the  feeling,  as  made  a  startling  and  terrible 
picture  of  the  secret  passions  to  which  all  classes  of  men  are 
liable. 

Emery  was  also  an  amateur  painter — of  landscape,  I 
believe,  and  of  no  mean  repute.  He  was  a  man  of  a  middle 
height,  rather  tall,  perhaps,  than  otherwise,  and  with  quiet, 
respectable  manners  ;  but  with  something  of  what  is  called 
a  pudding  face,  and  an  appearance  on  the  whole  not  imlike 
a  gentleman  farmer.      You  would  not  have  supposed  there 


KELLY,  01''  THE  OPERA  HOUSE.  149 

was  so  much  emotion  in  him  ;  though  he  had  purpose,  too, 
in  his  look  ;    and  he  died  early. 

I  have  been  tempted  to  dilate  somewhat  on  these  gentle- 
men; for  though  I  made  no  acquaintance  with  them  pri- 
vately, I  was  now  beginning  to  look  with  peculiar  interest 
on  the  stage,  to  which  I  had  already  wished  to  be  a  con- 
tributor, and  of  which  I  was  then  becoming  a  critic.  I  had 
written  a  tragedy,  a  comedy,  and  a  farce  ;  and  my  Spring 
Garden  friends  had  given  me  an  introduction  to  their  ac- 
quaintance, Mr.  Kelly,  of  the  Opera  House,  with  a  view  to 
having  the  farce  brought  out  by  some  manager  with  whom 
he  was  intimate.  I  remember  lighting  upon  him  at  the 
door  of  his  music-shop,  or  saloon,  at  the  corner  of  the  lane 
in  Pall  Mall,  where  the  Arcade  now  begins,  and  giving  him 
my  letter  of  introduction  and  my  farce  at  once.  He  had  a 
quick,  snappish,  but  not  ill-natured  voice,  and  a  flushed, 
handsome,  and  good-humored  face,  with  the  hair  about  his 
ears.      The  look  was  a  little  rakish  or  so,  but  very  agreeable. 

Mr.  Kelly  was  extremely  courteous  to  me  ;  but  what  he 
said  of  the  farce,  or  did  with  it,  I  utterly  forget.  Himself 
I  shall  never  forget ;  for  as  he  was  the  first  actor  I  ever 
beheld  any  where,  so  he  was  one  of  the  first  whom  I  saw 
on  the  stage.  Actor,  indeed,  he  was  none,  except  inasmuch 
as  he  was  an  acting  singer,  and  not  destitute  of  a  certain 
spirit  in  every  thing  he  did.  Neither  had  he  any  particular 
power  as  a  singer,  nor  even  a  voice.  He  said  it  broke  down 
while  he  was  studying  in  Italy;  where,  indeed,  he  had  sung 
Avith  applause.  The  little  snappish  tones  I  spoke  of,  were 
very  manifest  on  the  stage  :  he  had  short  arms,  as  if  to 
match  them,  and  a  hasty  step  :  and*  yet,  notwithstanding 
these  drawbacks,  ho  was  heard  with  pleasure,  for  he  had 
taste  and  feeling.  He  was  a  delicate  composer,  as  the  music 
in  Blue  Beard  evinces  ;  and  he  selected  so  happily  from 
other  composers,  as  to  give  rise  to  his  friend  Sheridan's 
banter,  that  he  was  an  "  importer  of  music  and  composer  of 
wines"  (for  he  once  took  to  being  a  wine-merchant).  While 
in  Ireland,  during  the  early  part  of  his  career,  he  adapted  a 
charming  air  of  Martini's  to  English  words,  which,  uiuJer 
under  the  title  of  0/i,  tlioic  uxrt  born  to  'plea?.e  me,  he  sang 


150  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

with  Mrs.  Crouch  to  so  much  elll'ct,  that  not  only  was  it 
always  calletJ  for  three  times,  but  no  play  was  suflercd  to  be 
perlormed  without  it.  It  should  be  added,  tltat  Mrs.  Crouch 
was  a  lovely  woman,  as  well  as  a  beautiful  singer,  and  that 
the  two  performers  were  in  love.  I  have  heard  them  sing 
it  myself,  and  do  not  wonder  at  the  impression  it  made  on 
the  susceptible  hearts  of  the  Irish.  Twenty  years  afterward, 
when  Mrs.  Crouch  was  no  more,  and  while  Kelly  was  sing- 
ing a  duet  in  the  same  country  with  Madame  Catalan!,  a 
man  in  the  gallery  cried  out,  "  Mr.  Kelly,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  favor  us  with  Oil,  tliou  icert  horn  to  2^lcase  me .'" 
The  audience  laughed  ;  but  the  call  went  to  the  heart  of  the 
singer,  and  probably  came  from  that  of  the  honest  fellow 
who  made  it.  The  man  may  have  gone  to  the  play  in  his 
youth,  with  somebody  whom  he  loved  by  his  side,  and  heard 
two  lovers,  as  happy  as  him.sclf,  sing  what  he  now  wished 
to  hear  again. 

Madame  Catalan!  was  also  one  of  the  singers  I  first  re- 
member. I  first  heard  her  at  an  ora^rio,  where  happening 
to  sit  in  a  box  right  opposite  to  where  she  stood,  the  leaping 
forth  of  her  amazingly  powerful  voice  absolutely  startled  me. 
Women's  voices  on  the  stage  are  apt  to  rise  above  all  others, 
but  Catalani's  seemed  to  delight  in  trying  its  strength  with 
choruses  and  orchestras  ;  and  the  louder  they  became,  the 
higher  and  more  victorious  she  ascended.  In  fact,  I  believe 
she  is  known  to  have  provoked  and  enjoyed  this  sort  of  con- 
test. I  su.spect,  however,  that  I  did  not  hear  her  when  she 
was  at  her  best  or  sweetest.  My  recollection  is,  that  with  a 
great  deal  of  taste  and  brilliancy,  there  was  more  force  than 
feeling.  She  was  a  lloman,  with  the  regular  Italian  ante- 
lope face  (if  I  may  so  call  it)  ;  large  eyes,  with  a  sensitive, 
elegant  nose,  and  lively  expression. 

Mrs.  Billington  also  appeared  to  me  to  have  more  brilliancy 
of  execution  than  depth  of  feeling.  She  was  a  fat  beauty, 
with  regular  features,  and  may  be  seen  drawn  to  the  life,  in 
a  portrait  in  Mr.  Hogarth's  Memoirs  of  the  Mudcal  Drama, 
where  she  is  frightfully  dressed  in  a  cropped  head  of  hair, 
and  a  waist  tucked  under  her  arms — the  fashion  of  the  day. 

Not  so  Grassini.  a  large  but  perfectly  well-made  as  well 


BRAHAM.  151 

as  lovely  woman,  with  black  hair  and  eyes,  and  a  counte- 
nance as  full  of  feeling  as  her  divine  contralto  voice.  Large- 
ness, or  what  is  called  fineness  of  person,  was  natural  to  her, 
and  did  not  hinder  her  from  having  a  truly  feminine  appear- 
ance. She  was  an  actress  as  well  as  singer.  She  acted 
Proserpina  in  Winter's  beautiful  opera,  and  might  have  re- 
mained in  the  recollection  of  any  one  who  heard  and  beheld 
her,  as  an  image  of  the  goddess  she  represented.  My  friend, 
Vincent  Novello,  saw  the  composer  when  the  first  perform- 
ance of  the  piece  was  over,  stoop  down  (he  was  a  very  tall 
man)  and  kiss  Mrs.  Billington's  hand  for  her  singing  in  the 
character  of  Ceres.  I  wonder  he  did  not  take  Grassini  in  his 
arms.  '  She  must  have  had  a  fine  soul,  and  would  have 
known  how  to  pardon  him.      But  perhaps  he  did. 

With  Billington  used  to  perform  Braham,  who  is  still  in 
some  measure  before  the  public,  ana  from  whose  wonderful 
remains  of  power  in  his  old  age  they  may  judge  what  he 
must  have  been  in  his  prime.  I  mean,  with  regard  to 
voice  ;  for  as  to  general  manner  and  spirit,  it  is  a  curious 
fact,  that,  except  when  he  was  in  the  act  of  singiiig,  he 
used  to  be  a  remarkably  insipid  performer ;  and  that  it  was 
not  till  he  was  growing  elderly,  that  he  became  the  anima- 
ted person  we  now  see  him.  This,  too,  he  did  all  on  a 
sudden,  to  the  amusement  as  well  as  astonishment  of  the 
beholders.  When  he  sang,  he  was  always  animated.  The 
probability  is,  that  he  had  been  bred  up  under  masters  who 
were  wholly  untheatrical,  and  that  something  had  occurred  to 
set  his  natural  spirit  reflecting  on  the  injustice  they  had 
done  him  ;  though,  for  a  reason  which  I  shall  give  present- 
ly, the  theatre,  after  all,  was  not  the  best  field  for  his  abili- 
ties. He  had  wonderful  execution  as  well  as  force,  and  his 
voice  could  also  be  very  sweet,  though  it  was  too  apt  to  be- 
tray something  of  that  nasal  tone  which  has  been  observed 
in  Jews,  and  which  is,  perhaps,  quite  as  much,  or  more,  a 
habit  in  which  they  have  been  brought  up,  than  a  conse- 
quence of  organization.  The  same  thing  has  been  noticed 
in  Americans  ;  and  it  might  not  be  difficult  to  trace  it  to 
moral,  and  even  to  moneyed  causes  ;  those,  to-wit,  that  in- 
duce people  to   retreat  inwardly  upon   themselves  ;  into  a 


152  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

sense  of  their  shrewdness  and  resources ;  and  to  clap  their 
finger  in  self-congratulation  upon  the  organ  through  which 
it  pleases  them  occasionally  to  intimate  as  much  to  a  bystand- 
er, not  choosing  to  trust  it  wholly  to  the  mouth. 

Perhaps  it  was  in  some  measure  the  same  kind  of  breed- 
ing (I  do  not  say  it  in  disrespect,  but  in  reference  to  matters 
of  caste,  far  more  discreditable  to  Christians  than  Jews) 
which  induced  Mr.  Braham  to  quit  the  Italian  stage,  and 
devote  himself  to  his  popular  and  not  very  refined  style  of 
bravura-singing  on  the  English.  It  was  what  may  be  call- 
ed the  loud-and-soft  style.  There  was  admirable  execution ; 
but  the  expression  consisted  in  being  very  soft  on  the  words 
love,  peace,  &c.,  and  then  bursting  into  roars  of  triumph  on 
the  words  hate,  ivar,  and  gloi-y.  To  this  pattern  Mr. 
Braham  composed  many  of  the  songs  written  for  him  ;  and 
the  public  were  enchaufed  with  a  style  which  enabled  them 
to  fancy  that  they  enjoyed  the  highest  style  of  the  art, 
while  it  required  only  the  vulgarest  of  their  perceptions. 
This  renowned  vocalist  never  did  himself  justice  except  in 
the  compositions  of  Handel.  AVhea  he  stood  in  the  concert- 
room  or  the  oratorio,  and  opened  his  mouth  with  plain,  heroic 
utterance  in  the  mighty  strains  of  Deeper  and  deeper  still, 
or,  Soiind  a)i  alarm,  or,  Comfort  ye  iny  people,  you  felt  in- 
deed that  you  had  a  great  singer  before  you.  His  voice 
which  too  often  sounded  like  a  horn  vulgar,  in  the  catch- 
penny lyrics  of  Tom  Dibdin,  now  became  a  veritable  trum- 
pet of  grandeur  and  exaltation  ;  the  tabernacle  of  his  creed 
seemed  to  open  before  him  in  its  most  victorious  days ;  and 
you  might  have  fancied  yourself  in  the  presence  of  one  of 
the  sons  of  ^aron,  calling  out  to  the  host  of  people  from 
some  platform  occupied  by  their  prophets. 

About  the  same  time  Pasta  made  her  first  appearance  in 
England,  and  produced  no  sensation.  She  did  not  even  seem 
to  attempt  any.  Her  nature  was  so  truthful,  that,  having 
as  yet  no  acquirements  to  display,  it  would  appear  that  she 
did  not  pretend  she  had.  She  must  either  have  been  pre- 
maturely put  forward  by  others,  or,  Avith  an  instinct  of  her 
future  greatness,  supposed  that  the  instinct  itself  would  be 
recognized.     When  she  came  the  second  time,  after  com- 


MADAME  TASTA.  15;} 

pleting  her  studies,  she  took  rank  at  once  as  the  greatest 
genuis  in  her  hne  which  the  Italian  theatre  in  England  had 
Avitnessed.  She  was  a  great  tragic  actress  ;  and  her  sing- 
ing, iu  point  of  force,  tenderness,  and  expression,  was  equal 
to  her  acting.  All  noble  passions  belonged  to  her  ;  and  her 
very  scorn  seemed  equally  noble,  for  it  trampled  only  on 
what  was  mean.  When  she  measured  her  enemy  from  head 
to  foot,  in  Tancrcdi,  you  really  felt  for  the  man,  at  seeing 
him  so  reduced  into  nothingness.  When  she  made  her  en- 
trance on  the  stage,  in  the  same  character — which  she  did 
right  in  front  of  the  audience,  midway  between  the  side 
scenes,  she  waved  forth  her  arms,  and  drew  them  quietly  togeth- 
er again  over  her  bosom,  as  if  sh^sweetly,  yet  modestly,  em- 
braced the  whole  house.  And  when,  in  the  part  of  Medea, 
she  looked  on  the  children  she  was  about  to  kill,  and  tenderly 
parted  their  hair,  and  seemed  to  mingle  her  very  eyes  iu 
lovingness  with  theirs,  uttering,  at  the  same  time,  notes  of 
the  most  wandering  and  despairing  sweetness,  every  gentle 
eye  melted  into  tears.  She  wanted  height,  and  had  some 
what  too  much  flesh  ;  but  it  seemed  the  substance  of  the  very 
health  of  her  body,  which  was  otherwise  shapely.  Her 
head  and  bust  were  of  the  finest  classical  mould.  An  occa- 
sional roughness  in  her  lower  tones  did  but  enrich  them  with 
passion,  as  people  grow  hoarse  with  excess  of  feeling  ;  and 
while  her  voice  was  in  its  prime,  even  a  little  incorrectness 
now  and  then  in  the  notes  would  seem  the  consequence  of 
a  like  boundless  emotion  ;  but,  latterly,  it  argued  a  failure 
of  ear,  and  consoled  the  mechanical  artists  who  had  been 
mystified  by  her  success.  In  every  other  respect,  perfect 
truth,  graced  by  idealism,  was  the  secret  of  Pasta's  great- 
ness. She  put  truth  first  always  ;  and,  in  so  noble  and 
sweet  a  mind,  grace  followed  it  as  a  natural  conse- 
quence. 

With  the  exception  of  Lablache,  that  wonderful  bass  sing- 
er, full  of  might  as  well  as  mirth,  in  whom  the  same  truth, 
accompanied  in  some  respects  by  the  same  grace  of  feeling, 
has  sufiercd  itself  to  be  overlaid  with  comic  fat  (except  when 
he  turns  it  into  an  heroic  amplitude  with  drapery),  I  remem- 
ber no  men  on  our  Italian  stage  equal  to  the  women.      Women 


154  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

have  caTricd  Ih-i  palm  out  and  out,  in  acting,  singing,  and 
dancing.  The  jjleasurablc  seems  more  the  forte  of  the  sex  ; 
and  the  opera  house  is  essentially  a  palace  of  pleasure,  even  in. 
its  tragedy.  Bitterness  there  can  not  but  speak  sweetly  ;  there 
is  no  darkness,  and  no  poverty  ;  and  every  death  is  the  death 
of  the  swan.  When  the  men  are  sweet,  they  either  seem 
feeble,  or,  as  in  the  case  of  Rubini,  have  execution  without 
passion.  Naldi  was  amusing ,  Tramezzani  was  elegant ; 
Ambrogctti  (whose  great  big  calves  seemed  as  if  they  ought 
to  have  saved  him  from  going  into  La  Trappe)  was  a  fine 
dashing  representative  of  Don  Juan,  without  a  voice.  But 
what  were  these  in  point  of  impression  on  the  public,  com- 
pared with  the  woman  I  have  mentioned,  or  even  with  vo- 
luptuous Fodor,  with  amiable  Sontag,  with  charming  Mali- 
bran  (whom  I  never  saw),  or  with  adorable  Jenny  Lind 
(whom,  as  an  Irishman  would  say,  I  have  seen  still  less  ; 
for  not  to  see  her  appears  to  be  a  deprivation  beyond  all 
ordinary  conceptions  of  musical  loss  and  misfortune)  ? 

As  to  dancers,  male  dancers  are  almost  always  gawkies, 
compared  with  female.  One  forgets  the  names  of  the  best 
of  them  ;  but  who,  that  ever  saw,  has  forgotten  Ileberle,  or 
Cerito,  or  Taglioni  ?  There  was  a  great  noise  in  France 
about  the  Vestrises  ;  particularly  old  Vestris  ;  but  (with  all 
due  respect  to  our  gallant  neighbors)  I  have  a  suspicion  that 
he  took  the  French  in  with  the  gravity  and  if}iposi?ig?iess  of 
his  twirls.  There  was  an  imperial  demand  about  Vestris, 
likely  to  create  for  him  a  corresponding  supply  of  admiration. 
The  most  popular  dancers  of  whom  I  have  a  recollection, 
when  I  was  young,  were  Deshayes,  who  was  rather  an  ele- 
gant pdsture-master  than  dancer,  and  Madame  Parisot,  who 
was  very  thin,  and  always  smiling.  I  could  have  seen  little 
dancing  in  those  times,  or  I  should  have  something  to  say  of 
the  Prcsles,  Didelots,  and  others,  who  turned  the  heads  of  the 
Yarmouths  and  Barrymores  of  the  day.  Art,  in  all  its 
branches,  has  since  grown  more  esteemed  ;  and  I  suspect, 
that  neither  dancing  nor  singing  ever  attained  so  much  grace 
and  beauty  as  they  have  done  within  the  last  twenty  years. 
The  Farinellis  and  Pacchierottis  were  a  kind  of  monsters  of 
execution.      There  were  tones,  also,  in  their  voices  which,  in 


JACK  BANNISTER.  155 

all  probability,  were  very  touching.  But,  to  judge  from  their 
printed  songs,  their  chief  excellence  lay  in  difficult  and  ever- 
lasting roulades.  And  we  may  guess,  even  now,  from  the  pre- 
vailing character  of  French  dancing,  that  difficulty  was  the 
great  point  of  conquest  with  Vestris.  There  was  no  such 
graceful  understanding  between  the  playgoers  and  the  per- 
formers, no  such  implied  recognition  of  the  highest  principles 
of  emotion,  as  appears  to  be  the  case  in  the  present  day  with 
the  Taglionis  and  Jenny  Linds. 

To  return  to  the  English  boards  ;  the  first  actor  whom  I 
remember  seeing  upon  them  was  excellent  Jack  Bannister. 
He  was  a  handsome  specimen  of  the  best  kind  of  English- 
man— jovial,  manly,  good-humored,  unafiected,  with  a  great 
deal  of  whim  and  drollery,  but  never  passing  the  bounds  of 
the  decorous ;  and  when  he  had  made  you  laugh  heartily  as 
some  yeoman  or  seaman  in  a  comedy,  he  could  bring  the 
tears  into  your  eyes  for  some  honest  suflerer  in  an  afterpiece. 
He  gave  you  the  idea  of  a  good  fellow,  a  worthy  household 
humorist,  whom  it  would  be  both  pleasant  and  profitable  to 
live  with  ;  and  this  was  his  real  character.  He  had  a  taste 
for  pictures,  and  settled  down  into  a  good  English  gout  and 
the  love  of  his  family.  I  saw  him  one  day  hobbling  with 
a  stick  in  Gower-street,  where  he  lived,  and  the  same  evening 
performing  the  part  either  of  the  young  squire,  Tony  Lump- 
kin, in  .S'Ae  Sloops  to  Conquer,  or  of  Acres,  in  the  Comedy 
of  the  Rivals,  1  forget  which  ;  but  in  cither  character  he 
would  be  young  to  the  last.  Next  day  he  would  perform 
the  old  father,  the  Brazier,  in  Colman's  sentimental  comedy, 
John  Bull ;  and  every  body  would  see  that  it  was  a  father 
indeed  who  was  suffering. 

This  could  not  be  said  of  Fawcett  in  the  same  character, 
who  roared  like  a  Bull,  but  did  not  feel  like  John.  He  was 
affecting,  too,  in  his  way ;  but  it  was  after  the  fashion  of  a 
great  noisy  boy,  whom  you  can  not  help  pitying  for  his  tears, 
though  you  despise  him  for  his  vulgarity.  Fawcett  had  a 
harsh,  brazen  face,  and  a  vftice  like  a  knife-grinder's  wheel. 
He  was  all  pertness,  coarseness,  and  eflrontory,  but  with  a 
great  deal  of  comic  force ;  and  whenever  ho  came  trotting 
on  to  the  stage  (for  such  was  his  walk)  and  pouring  forth  his 


156  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

harsh,  lapid  words,  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  and  a  facetious 
grind  in  his  throat,  the  audience  were  prepared  for  a  merry 
evening. 

INIuuden  was  a  comedian  famous  for  the  variety  and  sig- 
nificance of  his  grimaces,  and  for  making  something  out  of 
nothing  by  a  certain  intensity  of  contemplation.  Lamb, 
with  exquisite  wit,  described  him  in  one  sentence,  by  saying, 
that  he  "  beheld  a  leg  of  mutton  in  its  quiddity."  If  he  laid 
an  emphasis  on  the  word  "  Holborn,"  or  "  button,"  he  did 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  you  thought  there  was  more  in 
"  Holborn,"  or  "  button,"  than  it  ever  before  entered  into 
your  head  to  conceive.  I  have  seen  him,  while  playing  the 
part  of  a  vagabond  loiterer  about  inn-doors,  look  at,  and  gra- 
dually approach,  a  pot  of  ale  on  a  table  from  a  distance,  for 
ten  minutes  together,  vi'hile  he  kept  the  house  in  roars  of 
laughter  by  the  intense  idea  which  he  dumbly  conveyed  of 
its  contents,  and  the  no  less  intense  manifestation  of  his  cau- 
tious but  inflexible  resolution  to  drink  it.  So,  in  acting  the 
part  of  a  credulous  old  antiquary,  on  whom  an  old  beaver  is 
palmed  for  the  "  hat  of  William  Tell,"  he  reverently  put 
the  hat  on  his  head,  and  then  solemnly  walked  to  and  fro 
with  such  an  excessive  sense  of  the  glory  with  which  he 
was  crowned,  such  a  weight  of  reflected  heroism,  and  accu- 
mulation of  Tell's  whole  history  on  that  single  representative 
culminating  point,  elegantly  halting  every  now  and  then  to 
put  himself  in  the  attitude  of  one  drawing  a  bow,  that  the 
spectator  could  hardly  have  been  astonished  had  they  seen 
his  hair  stand  on  end,  and  carry  the  hat  aloft  with  it.  But 
I  must  not  suffer  myself  to  be  led  into  these  details. 

Lewis  was  a  comedian  of  the  rarest  order,  for  he  combined 
whimsicality  with  elegance,  and  levity  with  heart.  He  was 
the  fop,  the  lounger,  the  flatterer,  the  rattlebrain,  the  sower 
of  wild  oats  ;  and  in  all  he  was  the  gentleman.  He  looked 
on  the  stage  what  he  was  off'  it,  the  companion  of  wits  and 
men  of  quality.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  ho  was  a  de- 
scendant of  Erasmus  Lewis,  the  secretary  of  Lord  Oxford, 
and  friend  of  Pope  and  Swift.  He  was  airiness  personified. 
He  had  a  light  person,  light  features,  a  light  voice,  a  smile 
that  showed  the  teeth,  with  good-humored  eyes  ;  and  a  genial 


ELLISTON.  157 

levity  pervaded  his  action,  to  the  very  tips  of  his  dehcately- 
gloved  fingers.  He  drew  on  his  glove  Hke  a  gentleman,  and 
then  darted  his  fingers  at  the  ribs  of  the  character  he  was 
talking  with,  in  a  way  that  carried  with  it  whatever  was 
suggestive,  and  sparkling,  and  amusing.  When  he  died,  they 
put  up  a  classical  Latin  inscription  to  his  memory,  about 
elega7itice  and  hiJores  (whims  and  graces) ;  and  you  felt  that 
no  man  better  deserved  it.  He  had  a  right  to  be  recorded  as 
the  type  of  airy  genteel  comedy. 

EUiston  was  weightier  both  in  manner  and  person  ;  and 
he  was  a  tragedian  as  well  as  comedian.  Not  a  great  tra- 
gedian, though  able  to  make  a  serious  and  affecting  impres- 
sion ;  and  when  I  say  weightier  in  comedy  than  Lewis,  I  do 
not  mean  heavy  ;  but  that  he  had  greater  bodily  substance 
and  force.  In  Sir  Harry  Wildair,  for  instance,  he  looked 
more  like  the  man  who  could  bear  rakery  and  debauch.  The 
engraved  portrait  of » him  in  a  coat  bordered  with  fur  is 
very  like.  He  had  dry  as  well  as  genial  humor,  was  an  ad- 
mirable representative  of  the  triple  hero  in  Three  and  the 
Deuce,  of  Charles  Surface,  Don  Felix,  the  Duke  in  the 
Honeymoon,  and  of  all  gallant  and  gay  lovers  of  a  robust 
order,  not  omitting  the  most  cordial.  Indeed,  he  was  the 
most  genuine  lover  that  I  ever  saw  on  the  stage.  No  man 
approached  a  woman  as  he  did — with  so  flattereng  a  mix- 
ture of  reverence  and  passion — such  closeness  without  inso- 
lence, and  such  a  trembling  energy  in  his  words.  His  utter- 
ance of  the  single  word  "  charming"  was  a  volume  of  raptur- 
ous fervor.  I  speak,  of  course,  only  of  his  better  days.  Lat- 
terly, he  grew  flustered  with  imprudence  and  misfortune  ; 
and  from  the  accounts  I  have  heard  of  his  acting,  nobody 
who  had  not  seen  him  before  could  have  guessed  what  sort 
of  man  he  had  been.  EUiston,  like  Lewis,  went  upon  the 
stage  with  advantages  of  training  and  connections.  He  w»s 
nephew  of  Dr.  EUislon,  master  of  one  of  the  colleges  at  Cam- 
bridge ;   and  he  was  educated  at  Saint  Paul's  school. 

These  are  the  actors  of  those  days  whom  I  recollect  with 
the  greatest  pleasure.  I  include  Fawcett,  because  he  was 
identified  with  some  of  the  most  laughable  characters  in 
farce. 


153  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

To  touch  on  some  others.  Liston  was  renowned  for  an 
exquisitely  ridiculous  face  and  manner,  rich  with  half-con- 
scious, half-unconscious  absurdity.  The  whole  piece  became 
Listonized  the  moment  he  appeared.  People  loufred  for  his 
coming  back,  in  order  that  they  mif^ht  doat  on  his  oily, 
mantling  face,  and  laugh  with  him  and  at  him. 

Mathews  was  a  genius  in  mimicry,  a  facs-imile  in  mind 
as  well  as  manner ;  and  he  was  a  capital  Sir  Fretful 
Plagiary.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  him  looking  wretchedly 
happy  at  his  victimizcrs,  and  digging  deeper  and  deeper  into 
his  mortification  at  every  fresh  button  of  his  coat  that  he 
buttoned  up. 

Dowton  was  perfect  in  such  characters  as  Colonel  Oldboy 
and  Sir  Anthony  Absolute.  His  anger  was  no  petty  irrita- 
bility, but  the  boiling  of  a  rich  blood,  and  of  a  will  otherwise 
genial.      He  was  also  by  far  the  best  Falstafi'. 

Cooke,  a  square-faced,  hook-nosed,  .wide-mouthed,  malig- 
nantly smiling  man,  was  intelligent  and  peremptory,  and  a 
hard  hitter  :  he  seized  and  strongly  kept  your  attention  ; 
but  he  was  never  pleasant.  He  was  too  entirely  the  satirist, 
the  hyprocite,  and  the  villain.  He  loved  too  fondly  his  own 
caustic  and  rascally  words,  so  that  his  voice,  which  was 
otherwise  harsh,  was  in  the  luibit  of  melting  and  dying  away 
inwardly  in  the  secret  satisfaction  of  its  smiling  malignity. 
As  to  his  vaunted  tragedy,  it  was  a^  mere  reduction  of 
Shakspeare's  poetry  into  indignant  prose.  He  limited  every 
character  to  its  worst  qualities  ;  and  had  no  idealism,  no 
aflections,  no  verse. 

Kemble  was  a  god  compared  with  Cooke,  as  far  as  the 
ideal  was  concerned  ;  though,  on  the  other  hand,  I  never 
could  admire  Kemble,  as  it  was  the  fashion  to  do.  lie  was 
too  artificial,  too  formal,  too  critically  and  deliberately  con- 
scious. Nor  do  I  think  that  he  had  any  genius  whatsoever. 
His  power  was  all  studied  acquirement.  It  was  this  indeed, 
by  the  help  of  a  stern  Roman  aspect,  that  made  the  critics 
like  him.  It  presented,  in  a  noble  shape,  the  likeness  of 
their  own  capabilities. 

Want  of  genius  could  not  be  imputed  to  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Siddons.      I   did   not  see  her,  I   believe,  in   her   best  days  ; 


MRS.  SIDDONS.  159 

but  she  must  always  have  been  a  somewhat  masculine 
beauty  ;  and  she  had  no  love  in  her,  apart  from  other  pas- 
sions. She  was  a  mistress,  however,  of  lofty,  of  queenly,  and 
of  appalling  tragic  eflect.  Nevertheless,  I  could  not  but 
think  that  something  of  too  much  art  was  apparent  even  in 
Mrs.  Siddons  ;  and  she  failed,  I  think,  in  the  highest  points 
of  refinement.  When  she  smelt  the  blood  on  her  hand,  for 
instance,  in  Macbeth,  in  the  scene  where  she  walked  in  her 
sleep,  she  made  a  face  of  ordinary  disgust,  as  though  the 
odor  was  ofTensive  to  the  senses,  not  appalling  to  the  mind. 

Charles  Kemble,  who  had  an  ideal  face  and  figure,  was 
the  nearest  approach  I  ever  saw  to  Shakespeare's  gentlemen, 
and  to  heroes  of  romance.  He  also  made  an  excellent 
Cassio.  But  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  who  was 
declining,  all  the  reigning  school  of  tragedy  had  retrograded 
rather  than  otherwise,  toward  the  times  that  preceded 
Garrick  ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  when  Kean  brought 
back  nature  and  impulse,  he  put  an  end  to  it  at  once,  as 
Garrick  had  put  an  end  to  Quin. 

In  comedy  nature  had  never  been  wanting  ;  and  there 
was  one  comic  actress,  who  was  nature  herself  in  one  of  her 
most  genial  forms.  This  was  Mrs.  Jordan  ;  who,  though 
she  was  neither  beautiful,  nor  handsome,  nor  even  pretty, 
nor  accomplished,  nor  "  a  lady,"  nor  any  thing  conventional 
or  comme  ilfaut  whatsoever,  yet  was  so  pleasant,  so  cordial, 
so  natural,  so  full  of  spirits,  so  healthily  constituted  in  mind 
and  body,  had  such  a  shapely  leg  withal,  so  charming  a 
voice,  and  such  a  happy  and  happy-making  expression  of 
ocuntenance,  that  she  appeared  something  superior  to  all 
those  requirements  of  acceptability,  and  to  hold  a  jiatent 
from  nature  herself  for  our  delight  and  good  opinion.  It  is 
creditable  to  the  feelings  of  society  in  general,  that  allow- 
ances are  made  for  the  temptations  to  which  the  stage  ex- 
poses the  sex  ;  and  in  Mrs.  Jordan's  case  these  were  not 
diminished  by  a  sense  of  the  like  consideration  due  to  princely 
restrictions,  and  to  the  manifest  domestic  dispositions  of 
more  parties  than  one.  But  she  made  even  Methodists  love 
her.  A  touching  story  is  told  of  her  apologizing  to  a  poor 
man  of  that  persuasion  for  having  relieved  him.      He  had 


ICO  LIFE  OF  LKIOII  HUNT. 

asked  her  name  ;  and  she  expressed  a  hope  that  he  would 
not  feel  offended  when  the  name  was  told  him.  On  hearing 
it,  the  honest  Methodist  (he  could  not  have  been  one  on 
board  the  hoy)  shed  tears  of  pity  and  admiration,  and  trusted 
that  he  could  not  do  wrong  in  begging  a  blessing  on  her 
head. 

[Serious  Revieicer,  interrupting.  But,  my  good  sir, 
suppose  some  of  your  female  readers  should  take  it  into  their 
heads  to  be  Mrs.  Jordan  ? 

Author.  Oh,  my  good  sir,  don't  be  alarmed.  My  female 
readers  are  not  persons  to  be  so  much  afraid  for,  as  you  seem 
to  think  yours  are.  The  stage  itself  has  taught  them  large 
measures  both  of  charity  and  discernment.  They  have  not 
been  so  locked  up  in  restraint,  as  to  burst  out  of  bounds  the 
moment  they  see  a  door  open  for  consideration.] 

Mrs.  Jordan  was  inimitable  in  exemplifying  the  conse- 
quences of  too  much  restraint  in  ill-educated  Country-Girls, 
in  romps,  in  hoydens,  and  in  wards  on  whom  the  mercen- 
ary have  designs.  She  wore  a  bib  and  tucker,  and  pinafore, 
with  a  bouncing  propriety,  fit  to  make  the  boldest  spectator 
alarmed  at  the  idea  of  bringing  such  a  household  responsi- 
bility on  his  shoulders.  To  see  her  when  thus  attired  shed 
blubbering  tears  for  some  disappointment,  and  eat  all  the 
while  a  great  thick  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  weeping,  and 
moaning,  and  munching,  and  eying  at  every  bite  the  part 
she  meant  to  bite  next,  was  a  lesson  against  will  and  appetite 
worth  a  hundred  sermons  of  our  friends  on  board  the  hoy  ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  could  assuredly  have  done  and 
said  nothing  at  all  calculated  to  make  such  an  impression  in 
favor  of  amiableness  as  she  did,  Avhen  she  acted  in  gentle, 
generous,  and  confiding  characters.  The  way  in  which  she 
would  take  a  friend  by  the  cheek  and  kiss  her,  or  make  up 
a  quarrel  with  a  lover,  or  coax  a  guardian  into  good-humor, 
or  sing  (without  accompaniment)  the  song  of  Since  then  I'm 
doomed,  or  In  the  Dead  of  the  Night,  trusting,  as  she  had 
a  right  to  do,  and  as  the  house  wished  her  to  do,  to  the  sole 
effect  of  her  sweet,  mellow,  and  loving  voice — the  reader  will 
pardon  me,  but  tears  of  pleasure  and  regret  come  into  my 
eyes  at  the  recollection,  as  if  she  personified  whatsoever  was 


FLAY-GOING  IN  YOUTH.  161 

happy  at  that  period  of  life,  and  which  has  gone  like  herself. 
The  very  sound  of  the  little  familiar  word  bud  from  her  lips 
(the  abbreviation  of  husband),  as  she  packed  it  closer,  as  it 
were,  in  the  utterance,  and  pouted  it  up  with  fondness  in 
the  man's  face,  taking  him  at  the  same  time  by  the  chin, 
was  a  whole  concentrated  world  of  the  power  of  loving. 

That  is  a  pleasant  time  of  life,  the  play-going  time  in 
youth,  when  the  coach  is  packed  full  to  go  to  the  theatre, 
and  brothers  and  sisters,  parents  and  lovers  (none  of  whom, 
perhaps,  go  very  often)  are  all  wafted  together  in  a  flurry 
of  expectation  ;  when  the  only  wish  as  they  go  (except  with 
the  lovers)  is  to  go  as  fast  as  possible,  and  no  sound  is  so 
delightful  as  the  cry  of  "  Bill  of  the  Play  ;"  when  the  smell 
of  links  in  the  darkest  and  muddiest  winter's  night  is  charm- 
ing ;  and  tha  steps  of  the  coach  are  let  down  ;  and  a  roar 
of  hoarse  voices  round  the  door,  and  on^td-shine  on  the  pave- 
ment, are  accompanied  with  the  sight  of  the  warm-looking 
lobby  which  is  about  to  be  entered  ;  and  they  enter,  and 
pay,  and  ascend  the  pleasant  stairs,  and  begin  to  hear  the 
silence  of  the  house,  perhaps  the  first  jingle  of  the  music  ; 
and  the  box  is  entered  amidst  some  little  awkwardness  in 
descending  to  their  places,  and  being  looked  at  ;  and  at 
length  they  sit,  and  are  become  used  to  by  their  neighbors, 
and  shawls  and  smiles  are  adjusted,  and  the  play-bill  is 
handed  round  or  pinned  to  the  cushion,  and  the  gods  art' 
a  little  noisy,  and  the  music  veritably  commences,  and  at 
length  the  curtain  is  drawn  up,  and  the  first  delightful  syl- 
lables are  heard  : 

"  Ah  I  my  dear  Charles,  when  did  you  see  the  lovely 
Olivia  ?" 

"  Oh  I  my  dear  Sir  George,  talk  not  to  me  of  Olivia.  The 
cruel  guardian,"  &c. 

Anon  the  favorite  of  the  party  makes  his  appearance,  and 
then  they  are  quite  happy  ;  and  next  day,  besides  his  own 
merits,  the  points  of  the  dialogue  are  attributed  to  him  as  if 
he  was  their  inventor.  It  is  not  Sir  Harry,  or  old  Dornton, 
or  Dubster,  who  said  this  or  that;  but  "Lewis,"  "Munden," 
or  "Keeley."  They  seem  to  think  the  wit  really  originated 
with  the  man  who  uttered  it  so  delightfully. 


IC3  LIFE  OK  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Critical  play-going  is  very  inferior  in  its  enjoyments  to 
this.  It  must  of  necessity  blame  as  well  as  praise  ;  it  be- 
comes difficult  to  please  ;  it  is  tempted  to  prove  its  own 
merits,  instead  of  those  of  its  entertainers  ;  and  the  enjoy- 
ments, of  self-love,  besides,  perhaps,  being  ill-founded,  and 
subjecting  it  to  the  blame  which  it  bestows,  are  sorry  sub- 
stitutes, at  the  best,  for  hearty  delight  in  others.  Never, 
after  I  had  taken  critical  pen  in  hand,  did  I  pass  the  thor- 
oughly-delightful evenings  at  the  playhouse  which  I  had 
done  when  I  went  only  to  laugh  or  be  moved.  I  had  the 
pleasure,  it  is  true,  of  praising  those  whom  I  admired  ;  but 
the  retributive  uneasiness  of  the  very  pleasure  of  blaming 
attended  it ;  the  consciousness  of  self,  which  on  all  occasions 
except  loving  ones,  contains  a  bitter  in  its  sweet,  put  its 
sorry  obstacle  in  the  way  of  an  unembarrassed  delight  ;  and 
I  found  the  days  flown  when  I  retained  none  but  the  good 
passages  of  plays  and  performers,  and  when  I  used  to  carry 
to  my  old  school-fellows  rapturous  accounts  of  the  farces  of 
Colman,  and  the  good-natured  comedies  of  O'Keefe. 

I  speak  of  my  own  feelings,  and  at  a  particular  time  of 
life  ;  but  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  people  of  all  times  of  life 
were  much  greater  play-goers  than  they  are  now.  They 
dined  earlier ;  they  had  not  so  many  newspapers,  clubs,  and 
piano-fortes;  the  French  Revolution  only  tended  at  first 
to  endear  the  nation  to  its  own  habits  ;  it  had  not  yet  open- 
ed a  thousand  new  channels  of  thought  and  interest ;  nor  had 
railroads  conspired  to  carry  people,  bodily  as  well  as  mental- 
ly, into  as  many  analogous  directions.  Every  thing  was  more 
concentrated,  and  the  various  classes  of  society  felt  a  greater 
concern  in  the  same  amusements.  Nobility,  gentry,  citizens, 
princes,  all  were  frequenters  of  theaters,  and  even  more  or 
less  acquainted  personally  with  the  performers.  Nobility 
intermarried  with  them  ;  gentry,  and  citizens  too,  wrote 
for  them ;  princes  conversed  and  lived  with  them. 
Sheridan,  and  other  members  of  parliament,  were  managers 
as  well  as  dramatists.  It  was  Lords  Derby,  Craven,  and 
Thurlow  that  sought  wives  on  the  stage.  INvo  of  the  most 
popular  minor  dramatists  were  Cobb,  a  clerk  in  the  India 
House,  and  Birch,  the  pastry-cook.      If  Mrs.  Jordan  lived 


JOHN  KEMBLK  AND  A  NOBLK  LORD.       1G3 

with  the  Duke  of  Clarence  (William  IV.)  as  his  mistress, 
nobody  doubts  that  she  was  as  faithful  to  him  as  a  wife. 
His  brother,  the  Prince  of  Wales  /' George  the  Fourth),  be- 
sides his  intimacy  with  Sheridan  and  the  younger  Colman, 
and  to  say  nothing  of  Mrs.  Robinson,  took  a  pleasure  in  con- 
versing with  Kemble,  and  was  the  personal  patron  of  O'Keefe 
and  of  Kelly.  The  Kembles,  indeed,  as  Garrick  had  been, 
were  received  every  where,  among  the  truly  best  circles ;  that 
is  to  say,  where  intelligence  was  combined  with  high  breed- 
ing :  and  they  deserved  it ;  for  whatever  dillerence  of  opin- 
ion may  be  entertained  as  to  the  amount  of  genius  in  the 
family,  nobody  who  recollects  them  will  dispute  that  they 
were  a  remarkable  race,  dignified  and  elegant  in  manners, 
with  intellectual  tendencies,  and  in  point  of  aspect  very  hke 
what  has  been  called  "  God  Almighty's  nobility." 

I  remember  once  standing  behind  John  Kemble  and  a 
noble  lord  at  a  sale.  It  was  the  celebrated  book-sale  of  the 
Duke  of  Roxburgh  ;  and  by  the  same  token  I  recollect  an- 
other person  that  was  present,  of  whom  more  by-and-by. 
The  player  and  the  nobleman  were  conversing,  the  former 
in  his  high,  dignified  tones,  the  latter  in  a  voice  which  I 
heard  but  indistinctly.  Presently,  the  actor  turned  his  noble 
profile  to  his  interlocutor,  and  on  his  moving  it  back  again, 
the  man  of  quality  turned  his.  What  a  difiercnce  !  and 
what  a  voice  I  Kemble's  voice  was  none  of  the  best ;  but, 
like  his  profile,  it  was  nobleness  itself  compared  with  that  of 
the  noble  lord.  I  had  taken  his  lordship  for  a  young  man, 
by  the  trim  cut  of  his  body  and  of  his  clothes,  the  "  fall  in" 
of  his  back  and  tlie  smart  way  in  which  he  had  stuck  his 
hat  on  the  top  of  his  head  ;  but  when  I  saw  his  profile  and 
heard  his  voice,  I  seemed  to  have  before  me  a  premature  old 
one.  His  mouth  seemed  toothless  ;  his  voice  was  a  hasty 
mumble.  Without  being  aquiline,  the  face  had  the  appear- 
ance of  being  what  may  be  called  an  old  "  nose-and-mouth 
face."  The  suddenness  with  which  it  spoke  added  to  the 
surprise.  It  was  like  a  Hash  of  decrepitude  on  the  top  of  a 
young  body. 

This  was  the  sale  at  which  the  unique  copy  of  Boccacio 
fetched  a  thousand  and  four  hundred  pounds.      It  was  bought 


1C4  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

by  the  Marquis  of  Blandford  (the  late  Duke  of  Marlborouf^h) 
ill  competition  with  Earl  Spencer,  who  conferred  willi  his 
son,  Lord  Althorp,  and  gave  it  up.  So  at  least  I  understand, 
for  I  was  not  aware  of  the  conference,  or  of  the  presence  of 
Lord  Althorp  (afterward  minister,  and  late  Earl  Spencer). 
I  remember  his  father  well  at  the  sale,  and  how  he  sat  at  the 
further  end  of  the  auctioneer's  table  with  an  air  of  intelligent 
indifference,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand  so  as  to  push  up 
the  hat  a  little  from  off' it.  I  beheld  with  pleasure  in  his 
person  the  pupil  of  Sir  William  Jones  and  brother  of  Cole- 
ridge's Duchess  of  Devonshire.  It  was  curious  and  scarcely 
pleasant,  to  see  two  Spencers  thus  bidding  against  one  another, 
even  though  the  bone  of  contention  was  a  book,  and  the  ghost 
of  their  illustrious  kinsman,  the  author  of  the  Faerie  Qucaic, 
might  have  been  gratified  to  see  what  book  it  was,  and  how 
high  the  prices  of  old  folios  had  risen.  What  satisfaction  the 
marquis  got  out  of  his  victory,  I  can  not  say.  The  earl, 
who,  I  believe,  was  a  genuine  lover  of  books,  could  go  home, 
and  reconcile  himself  to  his  defeat  by  reading  the  work  in  a 
cheaper  edition. 

I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  of  Mr.  Kemble  again  pres- 
ently, and  of  subseouent  actors  by-and-by. 


CHAPTEPv  VII. 


ESSAYS     IN     CRITICISM. 


Acquaintance  with  the  British  classics,  and  contribution  of  a  series  ol 
articles  to  an  evening  paper. — Colman  and  Bonnell  Thornton. — 
Goldsmith  again. — Reading  of  novels. — Objections  to  histoiy. — 
Voltaire. — Youthful  theology. — The  News. — Critical  essays  on  the 
performers  of  the  London  theatres. — John  Kemble  and  his  whims 
of  pronunciation. 

I  HAD  not  been  as  misdirected  in  the  study  of  prose  as  in 
that  of  poetry.  It  was  many  years  before  I  discovered  what 
Avas  requisite  in  the  latter.  In  the  former,  the  very  common- 
places of  the  schoolmaster  tended  to  put  me  in  the  right  path, 
for  (as  I  have  already  intimated)  he  found  the  Spectator  in 
vogue,  and  this  became  our  standard  of  prose  writing. 

It  is  true  (as  I  have  also  mentioned)  that  in  consequence 
of  the  way  in  which  we  were  taught  to  use  them  by  the 
schoolmaster,  I  had  become  far  more  disgusted  than  delight- 
ed with  the  charming  papers  of  Addison,  and  with  the  exac- 
tion of  moral  observations  on  a  given  subject.  But  the  seed 
was  sown,  to  ripen  under  pleasanter  circumstances ;  and  my 
father,  with  his  usual  good-natured  impulse,  making  me  a 
present  one  day  of  a  set  of  the  British  classics,  which  attract- 
ed my  eyes  on  the  shelves  of  Harley,  the  bookseller  in  Cav- 
endish-street, the  tenderness  with  which  I  had  come  to  re- 
gard all  my  school-recollections,  and  the  acquaintance  which 
I  now  made  for  the  first  time  with  the  lively  papers  of  the 
Co)itwisscur,  gave  me  an  entirely  fresh  and  delightful  sense 
of  the  merits  of  essay  writing.  I  began  to  think  that  when 
Boyer  crumpled  up  and  chucked  away  my  "  themes"  in  a 
passion,  he  had  not  done  justice  to  the  honest  weariness  of 
my  anti-formalities,  and  to  their  occasional  evidences  of  some- 
thing better. 

The  consequence  was  a  delighted  perusal  of  the  whole  set 
of  clas.sics  (for  I  have  ever  been  a  "glutton  of  books")  ;   and 


166  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

this  was  followed  by  my  first  prose  endeavors  in  a  scries  of 
papers  called  the  Traveler,  Avhich  appeared  in  the  cveninp: 
paper  of  that  name  (now  the  Globe),  under  the  signature  of 
"  Mr.  Town,  Junior,  Critic  and  Censor-general" — the  senior 
Mr.  Town,  with  the  same  titles,  being  no  less  a  person  than 
my  friend  of  the  Connoisseur,  with  whom  I  thus  had  the 
boldness  to  fraternize.  I  offered  them  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling to  the  editor  of  the  Traveler,  Mr,  Quin,  and  was  as- 
tonished at  the  gayety  with  which  he  accepted  them.  What 
astonished  me  more  was  a  perquisite  of  five  or  six  copies  of 
the  paper,  which  I  enjoyed  every  Saturday  when  my  essays 
appeared,  and  with  which  I  used  to  re-issue  from  Bolt  Court 
in  a  state  of  transport.  I  had  been  told,  but  could  not  easily 
conceive,  that  the  editor  of  a  new  evening  paper  would  be 
happy  to  fill  up  his  pages  with  any  decent  writing  ;  but 
Mr.  Quin  praised  me  besides  ;  and  I  could  not  behold  the 
long  columns  of  type,  written  by  myself,  in  a  public  paper, 
without  thinking  there  must  be  some  merit  in  them,  besides 
that  of  being  a  stop-gap. 

Luckily,  the  essays  were  little  read  ;  they  were  not  at  all 
noticed  in  public  ;  and  I  thus  escaped  the  perils  of  another 
permaturc  laudation  for  my  juvenility.  I  was  not  led  to 
repose  on  the  final  merits  either  of  my  prototype  or  his 
imitator.  The  Connoisseur,  nevertheless,  gave  me  all  the 
transports  of  a  first  love.  His  citizen  at  Vauxhall,  who 
says  at  every  mouthful  of  beef,  "  There  goes  twopence  ;"  and 
the  creed  of  his  unbeliever,  who  "  believes  in  all  unbelief," 
competed  for  a  long  time  in  my  mind  with  the  humor  of 
Goldsmith.  I  was  also  greatly  dehghted  with  the  singular 
account  of  himself,  in  the  dual  number,  with  which  he  con- 
cludes his  work,  shadowing  forth  the  two  authors  of  it  in  one 
person  : 

"  Mr.  Town  (says  he)  is  a  fair,  black,  niiildlc-sizcd,  very  short  per- 
son. He  wears  his  own  hair,  and  a  periwig.  He  is  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  and  not  more  than  four-and-twenty.  He  is  a  student  ol" 
the  law  and  a  bachelor  of  j)hy.sic.  lie  was  bred  at  the  University  of 
Oxford;  where,  having  taken  no  less  than  three  degrees,  he  looks 
down  on  many  learned  professors  as  his  inferiors ;  j-et,  having  been 
there  but  little  longer  than  to  take  the  first  degree  of  bachelor  of  arts, 
it  has  more  than  once  happened  that  ihe  censor-general  of  all  England 


THE  "CONNOISSEUR'S"  ACCOUNT  OF  HIiMSELF.      1C7 

has  been  reprimanded  by  the  ceasor  of  his  college  for  neglecting  to 
furnish  the  usual  essay,  or  (in  the  collegiate  phrase)  the  theme  of  the 
week." 

Probably  these  associations  with  school-terms,  and  with  a 
juvenile  time  of  life,  gave  me  an  additional  liking  for  the 
Co7inoisseur.  The  two-fold  author,  which  he  thus  describes 
himself,  cousistcd  of  Bonnell  Thornton,  afterward  the  trans- 
lator of  Plautus,  and  Colman,  the  dramatist,  author  of  the 
Jealous  Wife,  and  translator  of  Terence.  Colman  was  the 
"  very  short  person"  of  four-and-twenty,  and  Thornton  was 
the  bachelor  of  physic,  though  he  never  practiced.  The 
humor  of  these  writers,  compared  with  Goldsmith's,  was 
caricature,  and  not  deep  ;  they  had  no  pretensions  to  the 
genius  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  :  but  they  possessed  groat 
animal  spirits,  which  are  a  sort  of  merit  in  this  climate  ; 
and  this  was  another  claim  on  my  regard.  The  name  of 
Bonnell  Thornton  (whom  I  had  taken  to  be  the  sole  author 
of  the  Connoisseur)  was  for  a  long  time,  with  me,  another 
term  for  animal  spirits,  humor,  and  wit.  I  then  discovered 
that  there  was  more  smartness  in  him  than  depth ;  and  had 
I  known  that  he  and  Colman  had  ridiculed  the  odes  of 
Gray,  I  should,  perhaps,  have  made  the  discovery  sooner  ; 
though  I  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  confound  parody  with 
disrespect.  But  the  poetry  of  Gray  had  beeri  one  of  my  first 
loves  ;  and  I  could  as  soon  have  thought  of  friendship  or  of 
the  grave  with  levity,  as  of  the  friend  of  West,  and  the 
author  of  the  Elegij  and  the  Bard. 

An  amusing  story  is  told  of  Thornton,  which  may  show 
the  quick  and  ingenious,  but,  perhaps,  not  very  feehng  turn 
of  his  mind.  It  is  said  that  he  was  once  discovered  by  his 
father  sitting  in  a  box  at  the  theatre,  when  he  ought  to 
have  been  in  his  rooms  at  college.  The  old  gentleman 
addressing  him  accordingly,  that  youngster  turned  in  pre- 
tended amazement  to  the  people  about  him,  and  said. 
"  Smoke  old  wigsby,  who  takes  me  for  his  son."  Thornton, 
senior,  upon  this,  indignantly  hastens  out  of  the  box,  with 
the  manifest  intention  of  setting  ofT  for  Oxford,  and  finding 
the  rooms  vacant.  Thornton,  junior,  takes  double  post- 
horses,  and  is  there  before  him,  quietly  sitting  in  his  chair. 


168  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

He  rises  from  it  on  his  father's  appearaiico,  and  cries,  "  Ah, 
dear  sir,  is  it  you  ?  To  what  am  I  iiidehted  for  this  unex- 
pected pleasure  ?" 

Goldsmith  enchanted  me.  I  knew  no  end  of  repeating 
passages  out  of  the  Essays  and  the  Citizen  of  the  World, 
such  as  the  account  of  the  Club,  with  its  babel  of  talk ;  of 
Beau  Tibbs,  with  his  dinner  of  ox-cheek  which  "  his  grace 
was  so  fond  of;"  and  of  the  wooden-legged  sailor,  who  regard- 
ed those  that  were  luckly  enough  to  have  their  "legs  shot 
oiT"  on  board  king's  ships  (which  entitled  them  to  a  penny  a 
day),  as  being  "born  with  golden  spoons  in  their  mouths." 
Then  there  was  his  correct,  sweet  style  ;  the  village-painting 
in  his  poems  ;  the  Retaliation,  which  though  on  an  artificial 
subject,  seemed  to  me  (as  it  yet  seems)  a  still  more  genuine 
elTusion ;  and,  above  all,  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  with 
Burchell,  whom  I  adored  ;  and  Moses,  whom  I  would  rather 
have  been  cheated  with,  than  prosper ;  and  the  Vicar  him- 
self in  his  cassock,  now  presenting  his  "Treatise  against 
Polygamy"  (in  the  family  picture)  to  his  wife,  habited  as 
Venus  ;  and  now  distracted  for  the  loss  of  his  daughter 
Sophia,  who  is  seduced  by  the  villainous  baronet.  I  knew 
not  whether  to  laugh  at  him,  or  cry  Avith  him,  most. 

These,  with  Fielding  and  Smollett,  Voltaire,  Charlotte 
Smith,  Bage,  Mrs.  E-adcliffe,  and  Augustus  La  Fontaine, 
were  my  favorite  prose  authors.  I  had  subscribed,  Avhile  at 
school,  to  the  famous  circulating  library  in  Lcadenhall-street, 
and  I  have  continued  to  be  such  a  glutton  of  novels  ever 
since,  that,  except  where  they  repel  me  in  the  outset  with 
excessive  wordiness,  I  can  read  their  three-volume  enormities 
to  this  day  without  skipping  a  syllable ;  though  I  guess 
pretty  nearly  all  that  is  going  to  happen,  from  the  mysteri- 
ous gentleman  who  opens  the  work  in  the  dress  of  a  particular 
century,  down  to  the  distribution  of  punishments  and  the 
drying  up  of  tears  in  the  last  chapter.  I  think  the  authors 
wonderfully  clever  people,  particularly  those  who  write  most ; 
and  I  should  like  the  most  contemptuous  of  their  critics  to 
try  their  hand  at  doing  something  half  as  engaging. 

Should  any  chance  observer  of  these  pages  (for  I  look  upon 
my  customary  perusers  as  people  of  deeper  insight),  pronounce 


FAULTS  OF  HISTORY.  169 

such  a  course  of  reading  frivolous,  he  will  be  exasperated  to 
hear,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  reverence  to  opinion,  I  should 
have  been  much  inclined  at  that  age  (as,  indeed,  I  am  still) 
to  pronounce  the  reading  of  far  graver  works  frivolous  ;  his- 
tory, for  one.  I  read  every  history  that  came  in  my  way, 
and  could  not  help  liking  good  old  Herodotus,  ditto  Villani, 
picturesque,  festive  Froissart,  and  accurate  and  most  enter- 
taining, though  artificial  Gibbon.  But  the  contradictions  of 
historians  in  general,  their  assumption  of  a  dignity  for  which 
I  saw  no  particular  grounds,  their  unphilosophic  and  ridicu- 
lous avoidance  (on  that  score)  of  personal  anecdote,  and, 
above  all,  the  narrow-minded  and  time-serving  confinement 
of  their  subject  to  wars  and  party-government  (for  there  are 
time-servings,  as  there  are  fashions,  that  last  for  centuries), 
instinctively  repelled  me.  I  felt,  though  I  did  not  know,  till 
Fielding  told  me,  that  there  was  more  truth  in  the  verisimil- 
itudes of  fiction  than  in  the  assumptions  of  history;  and 
I  rejoiced  over  the  story  told  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who,  on 
receiving  I  forget  how  many  difierent  acounts  of  an  incident 
that  occurred  under  his  own  windows,  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  his  writing  a  History  of  the  World. 

But  the  writer  who  made  the  greatest  impression  on  me 
Was  Voltaire.  I  did  not  read  French  at  that  time,  but  I 
fell  in  with  the  best  translatioja  of  some  of  his  miscellaneous 
works ;  and  I  found  in  him  not  only  the  original  of  much 
which  I  had  admired  in  the  style  and  pleasantry  of  my  favor- 
ite native  authors,  Goldsmith  in  particular  (who  adored  him), 
but  the  most  formidable  antagonist  of  absurdities  which  the 
world  had  seen  ;  a  discloser  of  lights  the  most  overwhelming, 
in  flashes  of  wit ;  a  destroyer  of  the  strongholds  of  superstition, 
that  were  never  to  be  built  up  again,  let  the  hour  of  renova- 
tion seem  to  look  forth  again  as  it  might.  I  was  transport- 
ed with  the  gay  courage  and  unquestionable  humanity  of  this 
extraordinary  person,  and  I  soon  caught  the  tone  of  his  cun- 
ning implications  and  provoking  turns.  He  did  not  frighten 
me.  I  never  felt  for  a  moment,  young  as  I  was,  and  Chris- 
tianly  brought  up,  that  true  religion  would  sufier  at  his  hands. 
On  the  contrary,  I  had  been  bred  up  (in  my  home  circle)  to 
jook  lor  rclbrms  in  religion ;  1  had  been  led  to  desire  the  best 
VOL.  I. — H 


170  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUiNT. 

and  gentlest  form  ot"  it,  unattended  with  threats  and  horrors  : 
and  If  the  school  orthodoxy  did  not  countenance  such  expect- 
ations, it  took  no  pains  to  discountenance  tliem.  I  had  pri- 
vately accustomed  myself,  of  my  own  further  motiou,  to  doubt 
and  to  reject  every  doctrine,  and  every  statement  of  facts, 
that  went  counter  to  the  plainest  precepts  of  love,  and  to  the 
final  happiness  of  all  the  creatures  of  God.  I  could  never 
see,  otherwise,  what  Christianity  could  mean,  that  was  not 
meant  by  a  hundred  inferior  religions  ;  nor  could  I  think  it 
right  and  holy  to  accept  of  the  greatest  hopes,  apart  from 
that  universality — Fiat  justitia,  ruat  codum.  I  was  pre- 
pared to  give  up  heaven  itself  (as  far  as  it  is  possible  for 
human  hope  to  do  so)  rather  than  that  any  thing  so  unhea- 
venly  as  a  single  exclusion  from  it  should  exist.  Therefore, 
to  me,  Voltaire  was  a  putter  down  of"  a  great  deal  that  was 
wrong,  but  of  nothing  that  was  right.  I  did  not  take  him 
for  a  builder  ;  neither  did  I  feel  that  he  knew  much  of  the 
sanctuary  which  was  inclosed  in  what  he  pulled  down.  He 
found  a  heap  of  rubbish  pretending  to  be  the  shrine  itself 
and  he  set  about  denying  its  pretensions,  and  abating  it  as  a 
nuisance,  without  knowing,  or  considering  (at  least  I  thought 
so)  what  there  remained  of  beauty  and  durability,  to  be  dis- 
closed on  its  demolition.  I  fought  for  him,  then  and  after- 
ward, with  those  who  challenged  me  to  the  combat ;  and  I 
was  for  some  time  driven  to  take  myself  for  a  Deist  in  the 
most  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  till  I  had  learned  to  know 
what  a  Christian  truly  was,  and  so  arrived  at  opinions  on 
religious  matters  in  general,  which  I  shall  notice  at  the  con- 
clusion of  these  volumes. 

It  is  a  curious  circumstance  respecting  the  books  of  Vol- 
taire— the  greatest  writer  upon  the  whole  that  France  has 
produced,  and  undoubtedly  the  greatest  name  in  the  eight- 
eenth century  ;  that  to  this  moment  they  are  far  less  known 
in  England  than  talked  of;  so  much  so,  that,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  educated  circles,  chiefly  of  the  upper  class, 
and  exclusively  among  the  men  even  in  those,  he  has  not 
only  been  hardly  read  at  all,  even  by  such  as  have  talked  of 
him  with  admiration,  or  loaded  him  with  reproach,  but  the 
portions  of  his  writings  that  have  had  the  greatest  efiect  on 


VOLTAIRE,  171 

the  world  are  the  least  known  among  readers  the  most  popu- 
larly acquainted  with  him.  The  reasons  of  this  remarkable 
ignorance  respecting  so  great  a  neighbor — one  of  the  movers 
of  the  world,  and  an  especial  admirer  of  England,  are  to  be 
found,  first,  in  the  exclusive  and  timid  spirit,  under  the  guise 
of  strength,  which  came  up  with  the  accession  of  George  the 
Third  :  second,  as  a  consequence  of  this  spirit,  a  studious 
ignoring  of  the  Frenchman  in  almost  all  places  of  education, 
the  colleges  and  foundations  in  particular  ;  third,  the  Anti- 
Gallican  spirit  which  followed  and  exasperated  the  prejudice 
against  the  French  Hevolution ;  and  fourth,  the  very  trans- 
lation and  popularity  of  two  of  his  novels,  the  Cayidide  and 
Zadig,  which,  though  no  by  means  among  his  finest  produc- 
tions, had  yet  enough  wit  and  peculiarity  to  be  accepted 
as  sufficing  specimens  of  him,  even  by  his  admirers.  Un- 
fortunately, one  of  these,  the  Caiidide,  contained  some  of  his 
most  licentious  and  even  revolting  writing.  This  enabled 
his  enemies  to  adduce  it  as  a  sufficing  specimen  on  their  own 
side  of  the  question  ;  and  the  idea  of  him  Avhich  they  suc- 
ceeded in  imposing  upon  the  English  community  in  general, 
was  that  of  a  mere  irreligious  scofier,  who  was  opposed  to 
every  thing  good  and  serious,  and  who  did  but  mingle  a  little 
frivolous  wit  with  an  abundance  of  vexatious,  hard-hearted, 
and  disgusting  effrontery. 

There  is,  it  is  true,  a  verison,  purporting  to  be  that  of  his 
whole  works,  by  Smollett,  Thomas  Franklin,  and  others, 
which  is  understood  to  have  been  what  is  called  a  booksell- 
er's job ;  but  I  never  met  with  it  except  in  an  old  cata- 
logue ;  and  I  believe  it  was  so  dull  and  bad,  that  readers 
instinctively  recoiled  from  it  as  an  incredible  representation 
of  any  thing  lively.  The  probabihty  is,  that  Smollett  only 
lent  his  name  ;  and  Franklin  himself  may  have  done  as 
little,  though  the  "  translator  of  Sophocles,"  (as  he  styled 
himself)  was  well  enough  qualified  to  misrepresent  any  kind 
of  genius. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  I  have  hardly  ever  met,  even  in  liter- 
ary circles,  with  persons  who  knew  any  thing  of  Voltaire,  ex- 
cept through  the  medium  of  these  two  novels,  and  of  later 
school  editions  of  his  two  histories  of  Charles  the  Twelfth 


172  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNl. 

and  Peter  the  Great ;  books,  which  teachers  of  all  sorts,  in 
his  own  country,  have  been  gradually  compelled  to  admit 
into  their  courses  of  reading,  by  national  pride  and  the  im- 
perative growth  of  opinion.  Voltaire  is  one  of  the  three 
great  tragic  writers  of  France,  and  excels  in  pathos  ;  yet 
not  one  Englishman  in  a  thousand  knows  a  syllable  of  his 
tragedies,  or  Avould  do  any  thing  but  stare  to  hear  of  his 
pathos.  Voltaire  inducted  his  countrymen  into  a  knowledge 
of  English  science  and  metaphysics,  nay,  even  of  English 
poetry  ;  yet  Englishmen  have  been  told  little  about  him 
in  connection  with  them,  except  of  his  disagreements  with 
Shakspeare.  Voltaire  created  a  fashion  for  English  think- 
ing, manner,  and  policy,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  simplicity 
and  truthfulness  of  their  very  Quakers ;  and  yet,  I  will  venture 
to  say,  the  English  knew  far  less  of  all  this,  than  they  do  of  a 
licentious  poem  with  which  he  degraded  his  better  nature  in 
burlesquing  the  history  of  Joan  of  Arc. 

There  are,  it  is  admitted,  two  sides  to  the  character  of 
Voltaire  ;  one  licentious,  merely  scoffing,  saddening,  defective 
in  sentiment,  and  therefore  wanting  the  inner  clew  of  tho 
beautiful  to  guide  him  out  of  the  labyrinth  of  scorn  and  per- 
plexity ;  all  owing,  be  it  observed,  to  the  errors  which  he 
found  prevailing  in  his  youth,  and  to  the  impossible  demands 
which  they  made  on  his  acquiescence  ;  but  the  other  side  of 
his  character  is  moral,  cheerful,  beneficent,  prepared  to  en- 
counter peril,  nay,  actually  encountering  it  in  the  only  true 
Christian  causes,  those  of  toleration  and  charity,  and  raising 
that  voice  of  demand  for  the  advancement  of  reason  and  just- 
ice which  is  now  growing  into  the  whole  voice  of  Europe. 
He  was  the  only  man,  perhaps,  that  ever  existed,  who  rep- 
resented in  his  single  person  the  entire  character,  with  one 
honorable  exception  (for  he  was  never  sanguinary),  of  the 
nation  in  which  he  was  born  ;  nay,  of  its  whole  history, 
past,  present,  and  to  come.  He  had  the  licentiousness  of  the 
old  monarchy  under  which  he  was  bred-,  the  cosmopolite  ardor 
of  the  revolution,  the  science  of  the  consulate  and  the  "  sav- 
ans,"  the  unphilosophic  love  of  glory  of  the  empire,  the 
worldly  wisdom  (without  pushing  it  into  folly)  of  Louis 
Philippe,  and  the  changeful  humors,  the  firmness,  the  weak- 


VOLTAIRE.  173 

ness,  the  flourishing  declamation,  the  sympathy  with  the 
poor,  the  bonhomie,  the  unbounded  hopes,  of  the  begt  actors 
in  the  extraordinary  scenes  now  acting  before  the  eyes  of 
Europe  in  this  present  year  1850.  As  he  himself  could  not 
construct  as  well  as  he  could  pull  down  ;  so  neither  do  his 
countrymen,  with  all  the  goodness  and  greatness  among  them, 
appear  to  be  less  truly  represented  by  him  in  that  particular 
than  in  others  ;  but  in  pulling  down  he  had  the  same  vague 
desire  of  the  best  that  could  set  up  ;  and  when  he  was  most 
thought  to  oppose  Christianity  itself,  he  only  did  it  out  of  an 
impatient  desire  to  see  the  law  of  love  triumphant,  and  was 
only  thought  to  be  the  adversary  of  its  spirit,  because  his  re- 
vilers  knew  nothing  of  it  themselves. 

Voltaire,  in  an  essay  written  by  himself  in  the  English 
language,  has  said  of  Milton,  in  a  passage  which  Avould 
do  honor  to  our  best  writers,  that  when  the  poet  saw  the 
Adamo  of  Andreini  at  Florence,  he  "  pierced  through  the 
absurdity  of  the  plot  to  the  hidden  majesty  of  the  subject." 
It  may  be  said  of  himself,  that  he  pierced  through  the  con- 
ventional majesty  of  a  great  many  subjects,  to  the  hidden 
absurdity  of  the  plot.  He  laid  the  ax  to  a  heap  of  savage 
abuses  ;  pulled  the  corner-stones  out  of  dungeons  and  inqui- 
sitions :  bowed  and  mocked  the  most  tyrannical  absurdities 
out  of  countenance ;  and  raised  one  prodigious  peal  of  laugh- 
ter at  superstition,  from  Naples  to  the  Baltic.  He  was  the 
first  man  who  got  the  power  of  opinion  and  common  sense 
openly  recognized  as  a  reigning  authority  ;  and  who  made 
the  acknowledgment  of  it  a  point  of  wit  and  cunning,  even 
with  those  who  had  hitherto  thought  they  had  the  world  to 
themselves. 

An  abridgement  that  I  picked  up  of  the  Philosojjhical 
Dictionary  (a  translation),  was  for  a  long  while  my  text- 
book, both  for  opinion  and  style.  I  was  also  a  great  admirer 
of  L'Inge7i2t,  or  the  Sincere  Huron,  and  of  the  Esmy  on  the 
Philosophy  of  Histbry.  In  the  character  of  the  Sincere 
Huron  I  thought  I  found  a  resemblance  to  my  own,  as  most 
readers  do  in  those  of  their  favorites  :  and  this  piece  of  self- 
love  helped  me  to  discover  as  much  good-heartodness  in  Vol- 
taire as  I  discerned  wit.      Candide,  I  confess,  I  could  not 


174  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

like.  I  enjoyed  passages  ;  but  the  laughter  was  not  as  good- 
humored  as  usual  ;  there  was  a  view  of  things  in  it  which 
I  never  entertained  then  or  afterward,  and  into  which  tlie 
author  had  been  led,  rather  in  order  to  provoke  Leibnitz, 
than  because  it  was  natural  to  him ;  and,  to  crown  my  un- 
willing dislike,  the  book  had  a  coarseness,  apart  from  grace- 
ful and  pleasurable  ideas,  which  I  have  never  been  able  to 
endure.  There  were  passages  in  the  abridgment  of  the 
Pliilosophical  Dictionary  which  I  always  passed  over  ;  but 
the  rest  delighted  me  beyond  measure.  I  can  repeat  things 
out  of  it  now,  and  will  lay  two  or  three  of  the  points  before 
the  reader,  as  specimens  of  what  made  such  an  impression 
upon  me.  They  are  in  Voltaire's  best  manner  ;  which  con- 
sists in  an  artful  intermixture  of  the  conventional  dignity  and 
real  absurdity  of  what  he  is  exposing,  the  tone  being  as  grave 
as  the  dignity  seems  to  require,  and  the  absurdity  coming  out 
as  if  unintentionally. 

Speaking  of  the  Song  of  Solojnon  (of  which  by-the-way, 
his  criticism  is  very  far  from  being  in  the  right,  though  he 
puts  it  so  pleasantly),  he  thinks  he  has  the  royal  lover  at  a 
disadvantage  with  his  comparisons  of  noses  to  towers,  and 
eyes  to  fishpools  ;  and  then  concludes  with  observing,  "  All 
this,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  not  in  the  taste  of  the  Latin 
poets  ;  but  then  a  Jeio  is  not  obliged  to  tvrite  like  Virgil.'' 
Now,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  Eastern  and 
Western  poetry  had  better  be  two  things  than  one  ;  or,  at 
least,  that  they  have  a  right  to  be  so,  and  can  lay  claim  to  their 
own  beauties  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  impossible  to  help 
laughing  at  this  pretended  admission  in  Solomoji's  favor, 
and  the  cunning  introduction  of  the  phrase  "  a  Jew"  con- 
trasted with  the  dignity  of  the  name  of  Virgil. 

In  another  part  of  the  same  article  on  Solomon,  where  he 
speaks  of  the  many  thousands  of  chariots  which  the  Jewish 
monarch  possessed  (a  quantity  that  certainly  have  a  mi- 
raculous appearance,  though,  perhaps,  explainable  by  a  good 
scholar),  he  says  he  can  not  conceive,  for  the  life  of  him, 
what  Solomon  did  with  such  a  multitude  of  carriages,  "  un- 
less," adds  he,  "it  was  to  take  the  ladies  of  his  seraglio  an 
airing  on  the  borders  of  the  lake  Gcnesareth,  or  along  the 


VOLTAIRE.  175 

brook  Cedron  ;  a  charming  spot,  except  that  it  is  dry  nine 
months  in  the  year,  and  the  ground  a  little  stony  I"  At 
these  passages  I  used  to  roll  with  laughter  ;  and  I  can  not 
help  laughing  now,  writing  as  I  am,  alone  by  my  fireside. 
They  tell  nothing,  except  against  those  who  confound  every 
thing  the  most  indifferent,  relating  to  the  great  men  of  the 
Bible,  with  something  sacred  ;  and  who  have  thus  done  more 
harm  to  their  own  distinctions  of  sacred  and  profane,  than  all 
which  has  been  charged  on  the  ridicule  they  occasion. 

The  last  quotation  shall  be  from  the  admirable  article  on 
War  which  made  a  profound  impression  on  me.  You  can 
not  help  laughing  at  it :  the  humor  is  high  and  triumphant ; 
but  the  laugh  ends  in  very  serious  reflections  on  the  nature 
of  war,  and  on  the  very  doubtful  morality  of  those  who  make 
no  scruple,  when  it  suits  them,  of  advocating  the  infliction 
of  calamity  in  some  things,  while  they  protest  against  the 
least  hazard  of  it  in  others.  Voltaire  notices  the  false  and 
frivolous  pretensions  upon  which  princes  subject  their  re- 
spective countries  to  the  miseries  of  war,  purely  to  oblige 
their  own  cupidity  and  ambition.  One  of  them,  he  says, 
finds  in  some  old  document  a  claim  or  pretense  of  some  rela- 
tion of  his  to  some  piece  of  land  in  the  possession  of  another. 
He  gives  the  other  notice  of  his  claim  ;  the  other  will  not 
hear  of  it :  so  the  prince  in  question  "picks  up  a  great  many 
men  who  have  nothing  to  do  and  nothing  to  lose  ;  hinds, 
their  hats  with  coarse  ivhite  worsted,  five  sous  to  the  ell ; 
turns  them  to  the  right  and  left ;  and  marches  axcay  ivith 
them  to  glory. ''  Now,  the  glory  and  the  white  worsted,  the 
potentate  who  is  to  have  an  addition  to  his  coffers,  and  the 
poor  soul  who  is  to  be  garnished  for  it  with  a  halo  of  bobbin, 
"five  sous  to  the  ell,"  here  come  into  admirable  contrast. 
War  may  be  necessary  on  some  occasions,  till  a  wiser  remedy 
be  found  ;  and  ignoble  causes  may  bring  into  play  very  noble 
passions  ;  but  it  is  desirable  that  the  world  should  take  the 
necessity  of  no  existing  system  for  granted,  which  is  accom- 
panied with  horrible  evils.  This  is  a  lesson  which  Voltaire 
has  taught  us  ;  and  it  is  invaluable.  Our  author  terminates 
his  ridicule  on  War  with  a  sudden  and  startling  apostrophe 
to  an  eminent  preacher  on  a  very  different  subject.      The 


176  LIbE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

familiar  tone  of  the  reproof  is  very  pleasant.  "  Bourdaloue, 
a  very  bad  sermon  have  you  made  against  love  ;  against  that 
passion  which  consoles  and  restores  the  human  race  ;  but 
not  a  word,  bad  or  good,  have  you  said  against  this  passion 
that  tears  us  to  pieces."  (I  quote  from  memory,  and  am 
not  sure  of  my  words  in  this  extract  ;  but  the  spirit  of  them 
is  the  same).  He  adds,  that  all  the  miseries  ever  produced 
in  the  world  by  love,  do  not  come  up  to  the  calamities  oc- 
casioned by  a  single  campaign.  If  he  means  love  in  the 
abstract,  unconnected  with  the  systems  by  which  it  has  been 
regulated  in  different  parts  of  the  world,  he  is  probably  in 
the  right ;  but  the  miscalculation  is  enormous,  if  he  includes 
those.  The  ninety-six  thousand  prostitutes  alone  in  the 
streets  of  London,  which  we  are  told  are  the  inevitable  ac- 
companiment, and  even  safeguard,  of  the  virtuous  part  of  our 
system  (to  say  nothing  of  the  tempers,  the  jealousies,  the 
chagrins,  the  falsehoods,  the  quarrels,  and  the  repeated 
murders  which  afflict  and  astonish  us  even  in  that),  most 
probably  experience  more  bitterness  of  heart,  every  day  of 
their  lives,  than  is  caused  by  any  one  campaign,  however 
wild  and  flagitious. 

Besides  Voltaire  and  the  Connoisseur,  I  was  very  fond 
at  that  time  of  Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets,  and  a  great 
reader  of  Pope.  My  admiration  of  the  Rape  of  the  Lock 
led  me  to  write  a  long  mock-heroic  poem,  entitled  the  Battle 
of  the  Bridal  Ring,  the  subject  of  which  was  a  contest 
between  two  rival  orders  of  spirits,  on  whom  to  bestow  a 
lady  in  marriage.  I  venture  to  say,  that  it  would  have 
been  well  spoken  of  by  the  critics,  and  was  not  worth  a 
penny.  I  recollect  one  couplet,  which  will  serve  to  show 
how  I  mimicked  the  tone  of  my  author.  It  was  an  apos- 
trophe to  Mantua, 

"  Mantua,  of  great  and  small  the  long  renown, 
That  now  a  Vh'gil  giv'.st,  and  now  a  gown." 

Dryden  I  read,  too,  but  not  with  that  relish  for  his 
nobler  versification  M'hich  I  afterward  acquired.  To  dra- 
matic reading,  with  all  my  love  of  the  theatre,  I  have  already 
mentioned  my  disinclination ;  yet,  in  the  interval  of  my 
departure  from  school,  and  my  getting  out  of  my  teens,  I 


THE  CID.  177 

wrote  two  farces,  a  comedy,  and  a  tragedy  ;  and  the  plots 
of  all  (such  as  they  were)  were  inventions.  The  hero  of 
my  tragedy  was  the  Earl  of  Surrey  (Howard,  the  poet), 
who  was  put  to  death  by  Henry  the  Eighth.  I  forget  what 
the  comedy  was  upon.  The  title  of  one  of  the  farces  was 
the  Beau  Miser,  which  may  explain  the  nature  of  it.  The 
other  was  called  A  Hundred  a  Year,  and  turned  upon  a 
hater  of  the  country,  who,  upon  having  an  annuity  to  that 
amount  given  him,  on  condition  of  his  never  going  out  of 
London,  becomes  a  hater  of  th  i  town.  In  the  last  scene, 
his  annuity  died  a  jovial  death  in  a  country  tavern  ;  the 
bestower  entering  the  room  just  as  my  hero  had  got  on  a 
table,  with  a  glass  in  his  hand,  to  drink  confusion  to  the 
metropolis.  All  these  pieces  were,  I  doubt  not,  as  bad  as 
need  be.  About  thirty  years  ago,  being  sleepless  one  night 
with  a  fit  of  enthusiasm,  in  consequence  of  reading  about  the 
Spanish  play  of  the  Cid,  in  Lord  Holland's  Life  of  Guillen 
de  Castro,  I  determined  to  write  a  tragedy  on  the  same 
subject,  which  was  accepted  at  Drury-lane.  Perhaps  the 
conduct  of  this  piece  was  not  without  merit,  the  conclusion 
of  each  act  throwing  the  interest  into  the  succeeding  one  ; 
but  I  had  great  doubts  of  all  the  rest  of  it ;  and  on  receiving 
it  from  Mr.  Elliston  to  make  an  alteration  in  the  third  act, 
very  judiciously  proposed  by  him,  I  looked  the  whole  of  the 
play  over  again,  and  convinced  myself  it  was  unfit  for  the 
stage.  I  therefore  withheld  it.  I  had  painted  my  hero  too 
after  the  beau-ideal  of  a  modern  reformer,  instead  of  the 
half-godlike,  half-bigoted  soldier  that  he  was.  I  began  after- 
ward to  re-cast  the  play,  but  grew  tired  and  gave  it  up. 
The  Cid  would  make  a  delicious  character  for  the  stage,  or 
in  any  work  ;  not,  indeed,  as  Corneille  declaimed  him,  nor 
as  inferior  writers  might  adapt  him  to  the  reigning  taste  ; 
but  taken,  I  mean,  as  he  was,  with  the  noble  impulses  he 
received  from  nature,  the  drawbacks  with  which  a  bigoted 
age  qualified  them,  and  the  social  and  open-hearted  pleas- 
antry (not  the  least  evidence  of  his  nobleness)  which  brings 
forth  his  heart,  as  it  were,  in  flashes  through  the  stern  armor. 
But  this  would  require  a  strong  hand,  and  readers  capable 
of  grappling  with  it.      In  the  mean  time,  they  should  read 

n* 


175  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

of  him  in  Mr.  Southcy's  Chronicle  of  the  Cicl  (an  admirable 
summary  from  the  old  Spanish  writers),  and  in  the  delight- 
ful verses  at  the  end  of  it,  translated  from  an  old  Spanish 
poem  by  Mr.  Hookham  Frere,  witK  a  triumphant  force 
and  fidelity,  that  you  know  to  be  true  to  the  original  at 
once. 

About  the  period  of  my  writing  the  above  essays,  circum- 
stances introduced  me  to  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Bell,  the 
proprietor  of  the  Weekly  Messenger.  In  his  house  in  the 
Strand  I  used  to  hear  of  politics  and  dramatic  criticism,  and 
of  the  persons  who  wrote  them.  Mr.  Bell  had  been  well 
known  as  a  bookseller,  and  a  speculator  in  elegant  typog- 
raphy. It  is  to  him  the  public  are  indebted  for  the  small 
edition  of  the  Poets  that  preceded  Cooke's,  and  which,  with 
all  my  predilections  for  that  work,  was  unquestionably 
superior  to  it.  Besides,  it  included  Chaucer  and  Spenser. 
The  omission  of  these  in  Cooke's  edition  was  as  unpoetical  a 
sign  of  the  times,  as  the  present  familiarity  with  their  names 
is  the  reverse.  It  was  thought  a  mark  of  good  sense  :  as 
if  good  sense,  in  matters  of  literature,  did  not  consist  as  much 
in  knowing  what  was  poetical  in  poetry,  as  brilliant  in  wit. 
Bell  was  upon  the  whole  a  remarkable  person.  He  was  a 
plain  man,  with  a  red  face,  and  a  nose  exaggerated  by  in- 
temperance ;  and  yet  there  was  something  not  unpleasing  in 
his  countenance,  especially  when  he  spoke.  He  had  spark- 
ling black  eyes,  a  good-natured  smile,  gentlemanly  manners, 
and  one  of  the  most  agreeable  voices  I  ever  heard.  He  had 
no  acquirements,  perhaps  not  even  grammar  ;  but  his  taste 
in  putting  forth  a  publication,  and  getting  the  best  artists  to 
adorn  it,  was  new  in  those  times,  and  may  be  admired  in 
any  ;  and  the  same  taste  was  observable  in  his  house.  He 
knew  nothing  of  poetry.  He  thought  the  Delia  Cruscans 
fine  people,  because  they  were  known  in  the  circles ;  and 
for  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  he  had  the  same  epithet  as  for 
Mrs.  Crouch's  face,  or  the  phaeton  of  Major  Topham  :  he 
thought  it  "  pretty."  Yet  a  certain  liberal  instinct,  and 
turn  for  large  dealing,  made  him  include  Chaucer  and 
Spenser  in  his  edition  ;  he  got  Stothard  to  adorn  the  one, 
and  Mortimer  the  other  ;   and  in  the  midst,  I  suspect,  of  very 


BELL,  THE  BOOKSELLER.  179 

equivocal  returns,  published  a  British  Theatre,  with  em- 
bellishments, and  a  similar  edition  of  the  plays  of  Shak- 
speare — the  incorrectest  work,  according  to  Mr.  Chalmers, 
that  ever  issued  from  the  press. 

Unfortunately  for  Mr.  Bell,  he  had  as  great  a  taste  for 
neat  wines  and  ankles  as  for  pretty  books  ;  and,  to  crown 
his  misfortunes,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  to  whom  he  was  book- 
seller, once  did  him  the  honor  to  partake  of  an  entertainment 
at  his  house.  He  afterward  became  a  bankrupt.  He  was 
one  of  those  men  whose  temperament  and  turn  for  enjoj^- 
ment  throw  a  sort  of  grace  over  whatsoever  they  do,  stand- 
ing them  in  stead  of  every  thing  but  prudence,  and  some- 
times even  supplying  them  with  the  consolations  which  im- 
prudence itself  has  forfeited.  After  his  bankruptcy  he  set 
'  up  a  newspaper,  which  became  profitable  to  every  body  but 
himself.  He  had  become  so  used  to  lawyers  and  bailiffs 
that  the  more  his  concerns  flourished,  the  more  his  debts 
flourished  with  them.  It  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  been 
too  happy  without  them  ;  too  exempt  from  the  cares  that 
beset  the  prudent.  The  first  time  I  saw  him  he  was  stand- 
ing in  a  chemist's  shop,  waiting  till  the  road  was  clear  for 
him  to  issue  forth.  He  had  a  toothache,  for  which  he  held 
a  handkerchief  over  his  mouth  ;  and,  while  he  kept  a  sharp 
look-out  with  his  bright  eye,  was  alternatley  groaning  in  a 
most  gentlemanly  manner  over  his  gums,  and  addressing 
some  polite  words  to  the  shopman.  I  had  not  then  been 
introduced  to  him,  and  did  not  know  his  person ;  so  that  the 
effect  of  his  voice  upon  me  was  unequivocal.      I  liked  him 

for  it,  and  wished  the  bailiff  at  the  devil.* 

» 

*  An  intelligent  compositor  (Mr.  J.  P.  S.  Bicknell),  who  had  been 
a  noter  of  curious  passages  in  his  time,  informs  me,  that  Bell  was  the 
first  printer  who  confined  the  small  letter  s  to  its  present  shape,  and 
rejected  altogether  the  older  form,  /.  He  tells  me,  that  this  innovation, 
besides  the  handsomer  form  of  the  new  letter,  was  "a  boon  to  both 
master-printers  and  the  compositor,  inasmuch  as  it  lessened  the  amount 
of  capital  necessary  to  bo  laid  out  under  the  old  system,  and  saved  to 
the  workman  no  small  portion  of  his  valuable  time  and  labor." 

My  informant  adds,  as  a  curious  instance  of  conservative  tendency 
on  small  points,  that  Messrs.  Kivington  having  got  as  far  as  three 
sheets,  on  a  work  of  a  late  Bishop  of  Durham,  in  which  the  new  plan 
was  adopted,  the  Bishop  sent  back  the  sheets,  in  order  to  have  the  old 


180  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

In  the  office  of  the  Weekly  Messenger,  I  saw  one  day  a 
person  who  looked  the  epitome  of  squalid  authorship.  He 
was  wretchedly  dressed  and  dirty  ;  and  the  rain,  as  he  took 
his  hat  off,  came  away  from  it  as  from  a  spout.  This  was 
a  man  of  the  name  of  Badini,  who  had  been  poet  at  the 
Opera,  and  was  then  editor  of  the  Messenger.  He  was 
afterward  sent  out  of  the  country  under  the  Alien  Act,  and 
became  reader  of  the  English  papers  to  Bonaparte.  His 
intimacy  with  some  of  the  first  families  in  the  country, 
among  whom  he  had  been  a  teacher,  is  supposed  to  have 
been  of  use  to  the  French  government.  He  wrote  a  good 
idiomatic  English  style,  and  was  a  man  of  abilities.  I  had 
never  before  seen  a  poor  author,  such  as  iire  described  in 
books  ;  and  the  spectacle  of  the  reality  startled  me.  Like 
most  authors,  however,  who  are  at  once  very  poor  and  very 
clever,  his  poverty  was  his  own  fault.  AVhcn  he  received 
any  money  he  disappeared,  and  was  understood  to  spend  it 
in  alehouses.  We  heard  that  in  Paris  he  kept  his  carriage. 
I  have  since  met  with  authors  of  the  same  squalid  descrip- 
tion ;  but  they  were  destitute  of  ability,  and  had  no  more 
right  to  profess  literature  as  a  trade  than  alchemy.  It  is 
from  these  that  the  common  notions  about  the  poverty  of 
the  tribe  are  taken.  One  of  them,  poor  fellow  I  might  have 
cut  a  figure  in  Smollett.  He  was  a  proper  ideal  author, 
in  rusty  black,  out  at  elbows,  thin  and  pale.  He  brought 
me  an  ode  about  an  eagle  ;  for  which  the  publisher  of  a 
magazine,  he  said,  had  had  "  the  inhumanity"  to  offer  him 
half  a  crown.  His  necessity  ibr  money  he  did  not  deny  ; 
but  his  great  anxiety  was  to  know  whether,  as  a  poetical 
composition,  his  ode  was  not  worth  more.  "  Is  that  ^joe^ry, 
sir  ?"  cried  he  :  "  that's  what  I  want  to  know — is  that 
poetry?"  rising  from  his  chair,  and  staring  and  trembling 
in  all  the  agony  of  contested  excellence. 

letter  restored,  which  compelled  the  booksellers  to  get  a  new  supply 
from  the  type-foundry,  the  font  containing  the  venerable  f  having  been 
thrown  away. 

Mr.  Bieknell  also  informs  me,  that  when  Bell  set  up  his  newspaper, 
the  Weekly  Messenger  (which  had  a  wood-cut  at  the  top  of  it,  of  a  news- 
man blowing  his  horn),  he  is  said  to  have  gone  to  a  masquerade  in  th» 
newsman's  character,  and  distributed  prospectuses  to  the  company. 


GREEN-ROOM  CRITICS.  181 

My  brother  John,  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  1805,  set 
up  a  paper,  called  the  Neics,  and  I  went  to  live  with  him 
in  Brydges-street,  and  write  the  theatricals  in  it. 

It  was  the  custom  at  that  time  for  editors  of  papers  to 
be  intimate  with  actors  and  dramatists.  They  were  often 
proprietors,  as  well  as  editors  ;  and,  in  that  case,  it  was  not 
expected  that  they  should  escape  the  usual  intercourse,  or 
wish  to  do  so.  It  was  thought  a  feather  in  the  cap  of  all 
parties  ;  and  with  their  feathers  they  tickled  one  another. 
The  newspaper  man  had  consequence  in  the  green-room,  and 
plenty  of  tickets  for  his  friends  ;  and  he  dined  at  amusing 
tables.  The  dramatist  secured  a  good-natured  critique  in 
his  journal,  sometimes  got  it  written  himself,  or,  according 
to  Mr.  Reynolds,  was  even  himself  the  author  of  it.  The 
actor,  if  he  was  of  any  eminence,  stood  upon  the  same  ground 
of  reciprocity  ;  and  not  to  know  a  pretty  actress  would  have 
been  a  want  of  the  knowing  in  general.  Upon  new  per- 
formers, and  upon  writers  not  yet  introduced,  a  journalist 
was  more  impartial ;  and  sometimes,  where  the  proprietor 
was  in  one  interest  more  than  another,  or  for  some  personal 
reason  grew  ofiended  with  an  actor,  or  set  of  actors,  a  criti- 
cism would  occasionally  be  hostile,  and  even  severe.  An 
editor,  too,  would  now  and  then  suggest  to  his  employer  the 
policy  of  exercising  a  freer  authority,  and  obtain  influence 
enough  with  him  to  show  symptoms  of  it.  I  believe  Bell's 
editor,  who  was  more  clever,  was  also  more  impartial  than 
most  critics ;  though  the  publisher  of  the  British  Theatre, 
and  patron  of  the  Delia  Cruscans,  must  have  been  hampered 
with  literary  intimacies.  The  best  chance  for  an  editor, 
who  wished  to  have  any  thing  like  an  opinion  of  his  own, 
was  the  appearance  of  a  rival  newspaper  with  a  strong  the- 
atrical connection.  Influence  was  here  threatened  with 
diminution.  It  was  to  be  held  up  on  other  grounds  ;  and 
the  critic  was  permitted  to  find  out  that  a  bad  play  was 
not  good,  or  an  actress's  petticoat  of  the  lawful  dimensions. 

Puffing  and  plenty  of  tickets,  were,  however,  the  system 
of  the  day.  It  M'as  an  interchange  of  amenities  over  the 
dinner-table ;  a  flattery  of  power  on  the  one  side,  and  puns 
on  the  other  ;   and  what  the  public  took  for  a  criticism  on  a 


132  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

play,  was  a  draft  upon  the  box-office,  or  reminiscences  of  last 
Thursday's  salmon  and  lobster-sauce.  The  custom  was,  to 
write  as  short  and  as  favorable  a  paraf^raph  on  the  new 
piece  as  could  be  ;  to  say  that  Bannister  was  "  excellent," 
and  Mrs.  Jordan  "  charming"  ;  to  notice  the  "  crowded 
house,"  or  invent  it  if  necessary  ;  and  to  conclude  by  observ- 
ing that  "  the  whole  went  oft'  with  eclat."  For  the  rest,  it 
was  a  critical  religion  in  those  times  to  admire  Mr.  Kemble ; 
and  at  the  period  in  question  Master  Betty  had  appeared, 
and  been  hugged  to  the  hearts  of  the  town  as  the  young 
Roscius. 

We  saw  that  independence  in  theatrical  criticism  would 
be  a  great  novelty.  We  announced  it,  and  nobody  believed 
us  :  we  stuck  to  it,  and  the  town  believed  every  thing  we 
said.  The  proprietors  of  the  Ncivs,  of  whom  I  knew  so  little 
that  I  can  not  recollect  with  certainty  any  one  of  them,  very 
handsomely  left  me  to  myself.  My  retired  and  scholastic 
habits  kept  mo  so  ;  and  the  pride  of  success  confirmed  my 
independence  with  regard  to  others.  I  was  then  in  my  twen- 
tieth year,  an  early  age  at  that  time  for  a  writer.  The 
usual  exaggeration  of  report  made  me  younger  than  I  was  : 
and  after  being  a  "young  Pvoscius"  political,  I  M'as  now 
looked  upon  as  one  critical.  To  know  an  actor  personally 
appeared  to  rnc  a  vice  not  to  be  thought  of;  and  I  would 
as  lief  have  taken  poison  as  accepted  a  ticket  from  the 
theaters. 

Good  God  I  To  think  of  the  grand  opinion  I  had  of  myself 
in  those  days,  and  what  little  reason  I  had  for  it  !  Not  fo 
accept  the  tickets  was  very  proper,  considering  that  I  bestow- 
ed more  blame  than  praise.  There  was  also  more  good-na- 
ture than  I  supposed  in  not  allowing  myself  to  know  any 
actors;  but  the  vanity  of  my  position  had  greater  weight 
with  me  than  any  thing  else,  and  I  must  have  proved  it  to 
discerning  eyes  by  the  small  quantity  of  information  I  brought 
to  my  task,  and  the  ostentation  with  which  I  produced  it. 
I  knew  almost  as  little  of  the  drama  as  the  young  E-oscius 
himself  Luckily,  I  had  the  advantage  of  him  in  knowing 
how  unfit  lie  was  for  his  office ;  and,  probably,  he  thought 
me  as  much  so,  though  he  could  not  have  argued  upon  it ; 


MASTER  BETTY  AND  JOHN  KEMBLE.  183 

for  [  was  in  the  minority  respecting  his  merits,  and  the  bal- 
anco  was  then  trembling  on  the  beam  :  the  Neics,  I  believe, 
hastened  the  settlement  of  the  question.  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  we  had  let  him  alone,  and  he  had  got  a  little  more 
money.  However,  he  obtained  enough  to  create  him  a  pro- 
vision for  life.  His  position,  which  appeared  so  brilliant  at 
first,  had  a  remarkable  cruelty  in  it.  Most  men  begin  life 
with  struggles,  and  have  their  vanity  sufficiently  knocked 
about  the  head  and  shoulders  to  make  their  kinder  fortunes 
the  more  welcome.  Mr.  Betty  had  his  sugar  first,  and  his 
physic  afterward.  He  began  life  with  a  double  childhood, 
with  a  new  and  extraordinary  felicity  added  to  the  natural 
enjoyments  of  his  age  ;  and  he  lived  to  sec  it  speedily  come 
to  nothing,  and  to  be  taken  for  an  ordinary  person.  I  am 
told  that  he  acquiesces  in  his  fate,  and  agrees  that  the  town 
were  mistaken.  If  so,  he  is  no  qrdinary  person  still,  and  has 
as  much  right  to  our  respect  for  his  good  sense,  as  he  is  de- 
clared on  all  hands  to  deserve  it  for  his  amiableness.  I  have 
an  anecdote  of  him  to  both  purposes,  which  exhibits  him  in 
a  very  agreeable  light.  Hazlitt  happened  to  be  at  a  party 
where  Mr.  Betty  was  present;  and  in  coming  away,  when 
they  were  all  putting  on  their  great-coats,  the  critic  thought 
fit  to  complement  the  dethroned  favorite  of  the  town,  by  tell- 
ing him  that  he  recollected  him  in  old  times,  and  had  been 
"  much  pleased  with  him."  Betty  looked  at  his  memorial- 
ist, as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  don't  tell  me  so  I"  and  then 
starting  into  a  tragical  attitude,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  memory  I 
memory  1" 

I  was  right  about  Master  Betty,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it ; 
though  the  town  was  in  fault,  not  he.  I  think  I  was  right 
also  about  Kemble  ;  but  I  have  no  regret  upon  that  score. 
He  flourished  long  enough  after  my  attacks  on  his  majestic 
dryness  and  deliberate  nothings;  and  Kean  would  have" taken 
the  public  by  storm,  whether  they  had  been  prepared  for  him 
or  not : 

"  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin." 

Kemble  faded  before  him,  like  a  tragedy  ghost.  T  never 
denied  the  merits  which  that  actor  possessed.      He  had  the 


184  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

look  of  a  Roman  ;  made  a  very  good  ideal,  though  not 
a  very  real  Coriolanus,  for  his  pride  was  not  sufficiently 
blunt  and  unaffected  :  and  in  parts  that  suited  his  natural 
deficiency,  such  as  Penruddock  and  the  Ahbe  de  I'Epee, 
would  have  been  altogether  admirable  and  interesting,  if  you 
oould  have  forgotten,  that  their  sensibility,  in  his  hands,  was 
not  so  much  repressed,  as  Avanting.  He  was  no  more  to  be 
compared  to  his  sister,  than  stone  is  to  flesh  and  blood. 
There  was  much  of  the  pedagogue  in  him.  He  made  a  fuss 
about  trifles  ;  was  inflexible  on  a  pedantic  reading :  in  short, 
was  rather  a  teacher  of  elocution  than  an  actor  ;  and  not  a 
good  teacher  on  that  account.  There  Avas  merit  in  his 
idealism  as  far  as  it  went.  He  had  at  least  faith  in  some- 
thing classical  and  scholastic,  and  he  made  the  town  partake 
of  it ;  but  it  was  all  on  the  surface — a  hollow  trophy  :  and 
I  am  persuaded,  that  he  had  no  idea  in  his  head  but  of  a 
stage  Roman,  and  the  dignity  he  added  to  his  profession. 

But  if  I  was  right  about  Kemble,  whose  admirers  I  plagued 
enough,  I  was  not  equally  so  about  the  living  dramatists, 
whom  I  plagued  more.  I  laid  all  the  deficiences  of  the 
modern  drama  to  their  account,  and  treated  them  like  a  par- 
cel of  mischievous  boys,  of  whom  I  was  the  schoolmaster  and 
whipper-in.  I  forgot  that  it  was  I  who  was  the  boy,  and 
that  they  knew  twenty  times  more  of  the  world  than  I  did. 
Not  that  I  mean  to  say  their  comedies  were  excellent,  or 
or  that  my  commonplaces  about  the  sujierior  merits  of  Con- 
greve  and  Sheridan  were  not  well-founded  ;  but  there  was 
more  talent  in  their  "  five-act  farces"  than  I  supposed  ;  and 
I  mistook,  in  great  measure,  the  defect  of  the  age — its  dearth 
of  dramatic  character — for  that  of  the  writers  who  were  to 
draw  upon  it.  It  is  true,  a  great  wit,  by  a  laborious  pro- 
cess, and  the  help  of  his  acquirements,  might  extract  a  play 
or  two  from  it,  as  was  Sherdian's  own  case  ;  but  there  Avas 
a  great  deal  of  imitation  even  in  Sheridan,  and  he  was  fain 
to  help  himself  to  a  little  originality  out  of  the  characters  of 
his  less  formalized  countrymen,  his  own  included. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  the  three  most  amusing  dramatists 
of  the  last  age,  Sheridan,  Goldsmith,  and  O'Keefle,  were  all 
Irishmen,  and  all  had  characters  of  their  own.     Sheridan, 


IRISH  DRAMATISTS.  185 

after  all,  was  Swift's  Sheridan  come  to  life  again  in  the  per- 
son of  his  grandson,  with  the  oratory  of  Thomas  Sheridan, 
the  father,  superadded  and  brought  to  bear.  Goldsmith, 
at  disadvantage  in  his  breeding,  but  full  of  address  with  his 
pen,  drew  upon  his  own  absurdities  and  mistakes,  and  filled 
his  dramas  witli  ludicrous  perplexity.  O'Keefle  was  all  for 
whim  and  impulse,  but  not  without  a  good  deal  of  conscience  ; 
and,  accordingly,  in  his  plays  we  have  a  sort  of  young  and 
pastoral  taste  of  life  in  the  very  midst  of  its  sophistications. 
Animal  spirits,  quips  and  cranks,  credulity,  and  good  inten- 
tion, are  triumphant  throughout,  and  make  a  delicious  mix- 
ture. It  is  a  great  credit  to  O'Keeffe,  that  he  ran  sometimes 
close  upon  the  borders  of  the  sentimental  drama,  and  did  it 
not  only  with  impunity  but  advantage  ;  but  sprightliness  and 
sincerity  enable  a  man  to  do  every  thing  with  advantage. 

It  was  a  pity  that  as  much  could  not  be  said  of  Mr.  Col- 
man,  who,  after  taking  more  license  in  his  writings  than  any 
body,  became  a  licenser  ex  officio,  and  seemed  inclined  to 
license  nothing  but  cant.  When  this  writer  got  into  the  sen- 
timental, he  made  a  sad  business  of  it,  for  he  had  no  faith  in 
sentiment.  He  mouthed  and  overdid  it,  as  a  man  does  when 
he  is  telling  a  lie.  At  a  farce  he  was  admirable  ;  and  he 
remained  so  to  the  last,  whether  writing  or  licensing. 

Morton  seemed  to  take  a  color  from  the  Avriters  all  round 
him,  especially  from  O'KeefTe  and  the  sentimentalists.  His 
sentiment  was  more  in  earnest  than  Colman'.s,  yet,  somehow, 
not  happy  either.  There  was  a  gloom  in  it,  and  a  smack 
of  the  Old  Bailey.  It  was  best  when  he  put  it  in  a  shape 
of  humor,  as  in  the  paternal  and  inextinguishable  tailorism 
of  Old  Rapid,  in  a  Cure  for  the  Heart-Ache.  Young  R.apid, 
who  complains  that  his  father  "  sleeps  so  slow,"  is  also  a 
pleasant  fellow,  and  worthy  of  O'Keeffe.  He  is  one  of  the 
numerous  crop  that  sprang  up  from  Wild  Oats,  but  not  in 
so  natural  a  soil. 

The  character  of  the  modern  drama  at  that  time  was  sin- 
gularly commercial ;  nothing  but  gentlemen  in  distress,  and 
hard  landlords,  and  generous  interferers,  and  fathers  Avho 
got  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  sons  who  spent  it.  I  remem- 
ber one  play  in  particular,  in  which  the  whole  wit  ran  upon 


(86  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

prices,  bonds,  and  post-obits.  You  might  know  what  the 
pit  thought  of  their  pound  notes  by  the  ostentatious  indiffer- 
ence with  whicli  the  heroes  of  the  pieces  gave  them  away, 
and  the  admiration  and  pretended  approval  with  which  the 
spectators  observed  it.  To  make  a  present  of  a  hundred 
pounds  was  as  if  a  man  had  uprooted  and  given  away  an 
Egyptian  pyramid. 

Mr.  lleynolds  was  not  beliindhand  with  his  brother  dram- 
atists in  drawing  upon  the  taste  of  the  day  for  gains  and  dis- 
tresses. It  appears  by  his  Memoirs,  that  he  had  too  much 
reason  for  so  doing.  lie  was,  perhaps,  the  least  ambitious, 
and  the  least  vain  (whatever  charges  to  the  contrary  his 
animal  spirits  might  have  brought  on  him),  of  all  the  writers 
of  that  period.  In  complexional  vivacity  he  certainly  did 
not  yield  to  any  of  them  ;  his  comedies,  if  they  were  fugitive, 
were  genuine  representations  of  fugitive  manners,  and  went 
merrily  to  their  death  ;  and  there  is  one  of  them,  the  Dram- 
atist, founded  upon  something  more  lasting,  which  promises 
to  remain  in  the  collections,  and  deserves  it :  which  is  not  a 
little  to  say  of  any  writer.  I  never  wish  for  a  heartier  laugh 
than  I  have  enjoyed,  since  I  grew  wiser,  not  only  in  seeing, 
but  in  reading  the  vagaries  of  his  dramatic  hero,  and  his 
mystifications  of  "  Old  Scratch."  When  I  read  the  good- 
humored  Memoirs  of  this  writer  the  other  day,  I  felt  quite 
ashamed  of  the  ignorant  and  boyish  way  in  which  I  used  to 
sit  in  judgment  upon  his  faults,  without  being  aware  of  what 
was  good  in  him ;  and  my  repentance  was  increased  by  the 
very  proper  manner  in  which  he  speaks  of  his  critics,  neither 
denying  the  truth  of  their  charges  in  letter,  nor  admitting 
them  altogether  in  spirit  ;  in  fact,  showing  that  he  knew 
very  well  what  he  Avas  about,  and  that  they,  whatsoever 
they  fancied  to  the  contrary,  did  not. 

Mr.  Reynolds,  agreeably  to  his  sense  and  good-humor, 
never  said  a  word  to  his  critics  at  the  time.  Mr.  Thomas 
Dibdin,  not  quite  so  wise,  wrote  me  a  letter,  which  Incledon, 
I  am  told,  remonstrated  with  him  for  Bending,  saying,  it 
would  do  him  no  good  with  the  "  d — d  boy."  And  he  was 
right.  I  published  it,  with  an  answer,  and  only  thought 
that  I  made  dramatists  "  come  bow  to  me."      Mr.  Colman 


CRITICISMS  OF  THE  NEWS.  187 

attacked  me  iu  a  prologue,  which,  by  a  curious  chance,  Faw- 
cett  spoke  right  in  my  teeth,  the  box  I  sat  in  happening  to 
be  directly  opposite  him.  I  laughed  at  the  prologue  ;  and 
only  looked  upon  Mr.  Colraan  as  a  great  monkey  pelting  me 
with  nuts,  which  I  ate.  Attacks  of  this  kind  were  little 
calculated  to  obtain  their  end  with  a  youth  who  persuaded 
himself  that  he  wrote  for  nothing  but  the  public  good  ;  who 
mistook  the  impression  which  any  body  of  moderate  talents 
can  make  with  a  newspaper,  for  the  result  of  something 
peculiarly  his  own  ;  and  who  had  just  enough  scholarship  to 
despise  the  want- of  it  in  others.  I  do  not  pretend  to  think 
that  the  criticisms  in  the  Neics  had  no  merit  at  all.  They 
showed  an  acquaintance  with  the  style  of  Voltaire,  Johnson, 
and  others  ;  were  not  unagreeably  sprinkled  with  quotation  ; 
and,  above  all,  were  written  with  more  care  and  attention 
than  was  customary  with  newspapers  at  that  time.  The 
pains  I  took  to  round  a  period  with  nothing  in  it,  or  to  invent 
a  simile  that  should  appear  off-hand,  would  have  done  honor 
to  better  stuff. 

A  portion  of  these  criticisms  subsequently  formed  the 
appendix  of  an  original  volume  on  the  same  subject,  entitled 
Critical  Essays  on  the  Performers  of  the  London  Theatres. 
I  have  the  book  now  before  me  ;  and  if  I  thought  it  had  a 
chance  of  survival,  I  should  regret  and  qualify  a  good  deal 
of  uninformed  judgment  in  it  respecting  the  art  of  acting, 
which,  with  much  inconsistent  recommendation  to  the  con- 
trary, it  too  often  confounded  with  a  literal,  instead  of  a 
liberal  imitation  of  nature.  I  particularly  erred  with  respect 
to  comedians  like  Munden,  whose  superabundance  of  humor 
and  expression  I  confounded  with  farce  and  buffoonery. 
Charles  Lamb  taught  me  better. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  truth,  however,  mixed  up  with 
these  mistakes.  One  of  the  things  on  which  I  was  always 
harping,  was  Kemble's  vicious  pronunciation.  Kemble  had 
a  smattering  of  learning,  and  a  great  deal  of  obstinacy. 
He  was  a  reader  of  old  books  ;  and  having  discovered  that 
pronunciation  had  not  always  been  what  it  was,  and  that  in 
cue  or  two  instances  the  older  was  metrically  better  than 
the  new  (as  in  the  case  of  the  word  aches,  which  was  orig- 


las  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

iaally  a  dissyllable — aitchcs),  he  took  upon  him  to  reform 
it  in  a  variety  of  cases,  where  propriety  was  as  much  against 
him  as  custom.  Thus  the  vowel  e  in  the  word  "  merchant," 
in  defiance  of  its  Latin  etymology,  he  insisted  upon  pronounc- 
ing according  to  its  French  derivative,  marchant.  "  Inno- 
cent" he  called  innocint ;  "conscience"  (in  defiance  even 
of  his  friend  Chaucer),  C07ishince ;  "virtue,"  in  proper 
slip-slop,  ?;arc/iMe;  "  fierce,  "ywrsc;  "hedixA"  bird ;  "thy," 
the  (because  we  generally  call  "my,"  me);  and  "odious," 
"  hideous,"  and  "  perfidious,"  became  ojus,  hijjus,  and 
jJcrfijjus. 

Nor  were  these  all.  The  following  banter,  in  the  shape 
of  an  imaginary  bit  of  conversation  between  an  officer  and 
his  friend  was,  literally,  no  caricature  : 

ji.  Ha  !  captain  how  dost  ?  ( ' )  Tlic  appearance  would  lie  much 
improved  by  a  little  moi-e  attention  to  the  ( '^ )  hird. 

B.  Why,  so  I  think  :  there's  no  (')  sentimint  in  a  hird.  But  then 
it  serves  to  distinguish  a  soldier,  and  there  is  no  doubt  much  military 
.{■*)  varchue'm  lookinir  (^)furfuL 

A.  But,  the  girls,  Jack,  the  girls !  Why,  the  mouth  is  enough  to 
banish  kissing  from  the  (^)  airth  C)  etairnally. 

B.  In  (*)  maircy,  no  more  of  that !  Zounds,  but  the  shopkeepeflrs 
and  the  ( '■' )  marchanls  will  get  the  better  of  us  with  the  dear  souls ! 
However,  as  it  is  now  against  military  law  to  have  a  tender  counte- 
nance, and  as  some  birds,  I  thank  heaven,  are  of  a  tolerable  ( '° )  qu'dl- 
itij,  I  must  make  a  varchue  of  necessity  ;  and  as  I  can't  look  soft  for 
the  love  of  my  girl,  I  must  e'en  look  { "  )  hijjus  for  the  love  of  my 
country." 


( ' )  thy  ;  (  2 )  beard  ;  ( ^  )  sentiment ;  (  ■• )  virtue  ;  (  ^  )  fearful ;  ( ^ ) 
earth;  C )  eternally;  (*)  mercy;  ('■*)  merchants;  ('")  quality  (with 
the  a  as  in  universality)  ;   (  "  )  hideout. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SUFFERING  AND  REFLECTION. 

Nen'ous  illness  and  conclusions  therefrom. — Mystery  of  the  universe. 
— Hypochondriacal  recreations. — A  hundred  and  fifty  rhymes  on  a 
trissyllable. — Pastoral  innocence. — A  didactic  yeomaji. — "Hideous 
sight"  of  Dr.  Young. — Action  the  cure  for  sedentary  ailments. — 
Boating  ;  a  fray  on  the  Thames. — Magical  efleet  of  the  word  "  Law." 
— Return  of  health  and  enjoyment. 

But  the  gay  and  confident  spirit  in  which  I  began  this 
critical  career  received  a  check,  of  which  none  of  my 
friends  suspected  the  anguish,  and  very  few  were  told. 
I  fell  into  a  melancholy  state  of  mind,  produced  by  ill 
health. 

I  thought  it  was  owing  to  living  too  well ;  and  as  I  had 
great  faith  in  temperance,  I  went  to  the  reverse  extreme ; 
not  considering,  that  temperance  implies  moderation  in  self- 
denial,  as  well  as  in  self  indulgence.  The  consequence  was 
a  nervous  condition,  amounting  to  hypochondria,  which  last- 
ed me  several  months.  I  experienced  it  twice  afterward, 
each  time  more  painfully  than  before,  and  for  a  much  longer 
period  ;  but  I  have  never  had  it  since  ;  and  I  am  of  opinion 
that  I  need  not  have  had  it  at  all,  had  I  gone  at  once  to 
a  physician,  and  not  repeated  the  mistake  of  being  over 
abstinent. 

I  mention  the  whole  circumstance  for  the  benefit  of  others. 
The  first  attack  came  on  mc  with  palpitations  of  the  heart. 
These  I  got  rid  of  by  horseback.  I  forget  what  symptoms 
attended  the  approach  of  the  second.  The  third  was  pro- 
duced by  sitting  out  of  doors  too  early  in  the  spring.  I  at- 
tempted to  outstarve  them  all,  but  cgregiously  failed.  In 
one  instance,  I  took  wholly  to  a  vegetable  diet,  which  made 
me  so  weak  and  giddy,  that  I  was  forced  to  catch  hold  of 
rails  in  the  streets  to  hinder  myself  from  falling.  In  anoth- 
er. I  confined  myself  for  some  weeks  to  a  milk  diet,  whict 


190  LIFE  OF  LEIGH   HUNT. 

did  nothing  but  jaundice  my  complexion.  h\  the  third,  1 
took  a  modicum  of  meat,  one  glass  of  wine,  no  milk  except 
in  tea,  and  no  vegetables  at  all ;  but  thougl»  I  did  not  sufler 
quite  so  much  mental  distress  from  this  regimen  as  from  the 
milk,  I  sufiercd  more  than  from  the  vegetables,  and  for  a 
much  longer  period  than  with  either.  To  be  sure,  I  con- 
tinued it  longer  ;  and,  perhaps,  it  gave  me  greater  powers 
of  endurance  ;  but  for  upward  of  four  years,  without  inter- 
mission, and  above  six  years  in  all,  I  underwent  a  burden 
of  wretchedness,  which  I  afterward  felt  convinced  I  need  not 
have  endured  for  as  many  weeks,  perhaps  not  as  many  days, 
had  I  not  absurdly  taken  to  the  extreme  I  spoke  of  in  the 
first  instance,  and  then  as  absurdly  persisted  in  seeking  no 
advice,  partly  from  fear  of  hearing  worse  things  foi'etold  me, 
and  partly  from  a  hope  of  wearing  out  of  the  calamity  by 
patience.  At  no  time  did  my  friends  guess  to  what  amount 
I  sufTered.  They  saw  that  my  health  was  bad  enough, 
and  they  condoled  with  me  accordingly  ;  but  cheerful  habits 
enabled  me  to  retain  an  air  of  cheerfulness,  except  when  I 
was  alone  ;  and  I  never  spoke  of  it  but  once,  which  was  to 
my  friend  Mitchell,  whom  I  guessed  to  have  undergone  some- 
thing of  the  kind. 

And  what  was  it  that  I  suffered  ?  and  on  what  account  ? 
On  no  account.  On  none  whatsoever,  except  my  ridiculous 
super-abstinence,  and  my  equally  ridiculous  avoidance  of 
speaking  about  it.  The  very  fact  of  having  no  cause  what- 
soever, was  the  thing  that  most  frightened  me.  I  thought 
that  if  I  had  but  a  cause,  the  cause  might  have  been  removed 
or  palliated  ;  but  to  be  haunted  by  a  ghost  which  was  not 
even  ghostly,  which  was  something  I  never  saw,  or  could 
even  imagine,  this,  I  thought,  was  the  most  terrible  thing 
that  could  befall  me.  I  could  see  no  end  to  the  per- 
secutions of  an  enemy,  who  was  neither  visible  nor  even 
existing  I 

Causes  for  suffering,  however,  came.  Not,  indeed,  the 
worst,  for  I  was  neither  culpable  nor  superstitious.  I  had 
wronged  nobody  ;  and  I  now  felt  the  inestimable  benefit  of 
having  had  cheerful  opinions  given  me  in  rebgion.  But  I 
plagued  myself  with  things  which  are  the  pastimes  of  better 


HYPOCHONDRIA,  191 

states  of  health,  and  the  joursuita  of  philosophers.  I  mooted 
with  myself  every  point  of  metaphysics  which  could  get  into 
a  head  into  which  they  had  never  been  put.  I  made  a 
cause  of  causes  for  anxiety,  by  inquiring  into  causation,  and 
outdid  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's  Moses,  in  being  my  own 
Sanchoniathan  and  Berosus  on  the  subject  of  the  cosmogony  I 
I  jest  about  it  now ;  but,  oh  I  what  pain  was  it  to  me  then  I 
and  what  pangs  of  biliary  will  and  impossibility  I  underwent 
in  the  endeavor  to  solve  these  riddles  of  the  universe  !  I  felt, 
long  before  I  knew  Mr.  Wordsworth's  poetry, 

"  the  burthen  and  the  mystery 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world." 

I  reverence  the  mystery  still,  but  I  no  longer  feel  the  burden, 
because  for  these  five-and-thirty  years  I  have  known  how  to 
adjust  my  shoulders  to  it  by  taking  care  of  my  health.  1 
should  rather  say  because  healthy  shoulders  have  no  such 
burden  to  carry.  The  elements  of  existence,  like  the  air 
which  we  breathe,  and  which  would  otherwise  crush  us,  are 
so  nicely  proportioned  to  one  another  within  and  around 
them,  that  we  are  unconsciously  sustained  by  them,  not 
thoughtfully  oppressed. 

One  great  benefit,  however,  resulted  to  me  from  this  suf- 
fering. It  gave  me  an  amount  of  reflection,  such  as  in  all 
probability  I  never  should  have  had  without  it ;  and  if 
readers  have  derived  any  good  from  the  graver  portion  of  my 
writings,  I  attribute  it  to  this  experience  of  evil.  It  taught 
me  patience  ;  it  taught  me  charity  (however  imperfectly  I 
may  have  exercised  either) ;  it  taught  mc  charity  even 
toward  myself;  it  taught  me  the  worth  of  little  pleasures, 
as  well  as  the  dignity  and  utility  of  great  pains  ;  it  taught 
me  that  evil  itself  contained  good  ;  nay,  it  taught  mc  to 
doubt  whether  any  such  thing  as  evil,  considered  in  itself, 
existed  ;  whether  things  altogether,  as  far  as  our  planet 
knows  them,  could  have  been  so  good  without  it ;  whether 
the  desire,  nevertheless,  which  nature  has  implanted  in  us 
for  its  destruction,  be  not  the  signal  and  the  means  to  that 
end  ;  and  wdiether  its  destruction,  finally,  will  not  prove  its 
existence,  in  the  mean  time,  to  have  been  necessary  to  the 
very  bliss  that  supersedes  it. 


192  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

I  have  been  thus  circumstantial  respecting  this  ilhiess,  or 
eeries  of  iUnesses,  in  the  hope  that  such  readers  as  have  not 
had  experience  or  reflection  enough  of  their  own  to  dispense 
with  the  lesson,  may  draw  the  following  conclusions  from 
suflerings  of  all  kinds,  if  thej'  happen  to  need  it : 

First.  That  however  any  suffering  may  seem  to  be 
purely  mental,  body  alone  may  occasion  it ;  which  was  un- 
doubtedly the  case  in  my  instance. 

Second.  That  as  human  beings  do  not  originate  their 
own  bodies  or  minds,  and  as  yet  very  imperfectly  know  how 
to  manage  them,  they  have  a  right  to  all  the  aid  or  comfort 
they  can  procure,  under  any  suflerings  whatsoever. 

Third.  That  whether  it  be  the  mind  or  body  that  is  ail- 
ing, or  both,  they  may  save  themselves  a  world  of  perplexity 
and  of  illness  by  going  at  once  to  a  physician. 

Fourth.  That  till  they  do  so,  or  in  case  they  are  unable 
to  do  it,  a  recourse  to  the  first  principles  of  health  is  their 
only  wise  proceeding;  by  which  principles  I  understand  air 
and  exercise,  bathing,  amusements,  and  whatsoever  else  tends 
to  enliven  and  purify  the  blood. 

Fifth.  That  the  blackest  day  may  have  a  bright  morrow  ; 
for  my  last  and  worst  illness  suddenly  left  me,  probably  in 
consequence  of  the  removal,  though  unconsciously,  of  some 
internal  obstruction  ;  and  it  is  now  for  the  long  period  above 
mentioned  that  I  have  not  had  the  slightest  return  of  it, 
though  I  have  had  many  anxieties  to  endure,  and  a  great 
deal  of  sickness. 

Sixth.  That  the  far  greater  portion  of  a  life  thus  tried 
may  nevertheless  be  remarkable  for  cheerfulness  ;  which  has 
been  the  case  with  my  own. 

Seventh.  That  the  value  of  cheerful  ojiinions  is  inestim- 
able ;  that  they  will  retain  a  sort  of  heaven  round  a  man, 
when  every  thing  else  might  fail  him ;  and  that,  conse- 
quently, they  ought  to  be  religiously  inculcated  in  children. 

Eighth  and  last.  That  evil  itself  has  its  bright,  or  at  any 
rate  its  redeeming  side  ;  probably  is  but  the  fugitive  re- 
quisite of  some  everlasting  good  ;  and  assuredly,  in  the  meau 
time,  and  in  a  thousand  obvious  instances,  is  the  admonisher, 
the    producer,    the    increaser,    nay.    the   very    adorner   and 


Vl'v  IT  TO   2  A  .NSBORuL'GH.  193 

splendid  investitor  of  good  ;  it  is  the  pain  that  prevents  a 
worse,  the  storm  that  diffuses  health,  the  plague  that  en- 
larges cities,  the  fatigue  that  sweetens  sleep,  the  discord  that 
enriches  harmonies,  the  calamity  that  tests  affections,  the 
victory  and  the  crcvn  of  patience,  the  enrapturer  of  the 
embraces  of  joy. 

I  was  reminded  of  the  circumstance  which  gave  rise  to 
these  reflections,  by  the  mention  of  the  friend  of  whom  I 
spoke  last,  and  another  brother  of  whom  I  went  to  see  during 
my  first  illness.  He  was  a  young  and  amiable  artist, 
residing  at  Gainsborough  in  Lincolnshire.  He  had  no  con- 
ception of  Avhat  I  suffered  ;  and  one  of  his  modes  of  enter- 
taining me  was  his  taking  me  to  a  friend  of  his,  a  surgeon, 
to  see  his  anatomical  preparations,  and  delight  my  hypochon- 
driacal eyes  with  grinnings  of  skulls  and  delicacies  of  injected 
hearts.  I  have  no  more  horror  now,  on  reflection,  of  those 
frameworks  and  machineries  of  the  beautiful  body  in  which 
we  live,  than  I  have  of  the  jacks  and  wires  of  a  harpsichord. 
The  first  sight  revolts  us  simply  because  life  dislikes  death, 
and  the  human  being  is  jarred  out  of  a  sense  of  its  integrity 
by  these  bits  and  scraps  of  the  material  portion  of  it.  But 
I  know  it  is  no  more  me,  than  it  is  the  feeling  which  revolts 
from  it,  or  than  the  harpsichord  itself  is  the  music  that 
Haydn  or  Beethoven  put  into  it.  Indeed,  I  did  not  think 
otherwise  at  the  time,  with  the  healthier  part  of  me  ;  nor 
did  this  healthier  part  ever  forsake  me.  I  always  attributed 
what  I  felt  to  bodily  ailment,  and  talked  as  reasonably,  and 
for  the  most  part  as  cheerfully,  with  my  friends  as  usual,  nor 
did  I  ever  once  gainsay  the  cheerfulness  and  hopefulness  of 
my  opinions.  But  I  could  not  look  comfortably  on  the  bones 
and  the  skulls  nevertheless,  though  I  made  a  point  of  sus- 
taining the  exhibition.  I  bore  any  thing  that  came,  in  order 
that  I  might  be  overborne  by  nothing  ;  and  I  found  this 
practice  of  patience  very  useful.  I  also  took  part  in  every 
diversion,  and  went  into  as  many  diflbrent  places  and  new 
scenes  as  possible  ;  which  reminds  mc  that  I  once  rode  with 
my  Lincolnshire  friend  from  Gainsborough  to  Doncaster,  and 
that  he  and  I,  sick  and  serious  as  I  was,  or  rather  because 
I  was  sick  and  serious  (for  sMch  extremes  meet,  and  melan 
VOL    r. — I 


/94  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUiNT. 

choly  has  a  good-natured  sister  in  mirth)  made,  in  the  course 
of  our  journey,  a  hundrcrJ  and  fifty  rhymes  on  the  word 
"  philosopher."  We  stopped  at  that  number,  only  because 
we  had  come  to  our  journey's  end.  t  shall  not  apologize  to 
the  reader  for  mentioning  this  boy's  play,  because  I  take 
every  reader  who  feels  an  interest  in  this  book  to  be  a  bit  of  a 
philosopher  himself,  and  therefore  prepared  to  know  that  boy's 
play  and  man's  play  are  much  oftener  identical  than  people 
suppose,  especially  when  the  heart  has  need  of  the  pastime. 
I  need  not  remind  him  of  the  sage,  who  while  playing  with 
a  parcel  of  schoolboys  suddenly  stopped  at  the  approach  of  a 
solemn  personage,  and  said,  "  We  must  leave  oil',  boys,  at 
present,  for  here's  a  fool  coming." 

The  number  of  rhymes  might  be  a  little  more  surprising ; 
but  the  wonder  will  cease  when  the  reader  considers  that 
they  must  have  been  doggerel,  and  that  there  is  no  end  to 
the  forms  in  which  rhymes  can  set  oif  from  new  given  points ; 
as,  go  so  far,  throw  so  far ;  nose  of  her,  beaux  of  her  ;  toss 
of  her,  cross  of  her,  &c. 

Spirits  of  Swift  and  Butler  I  come  to  my  aid,  if  any  chance 
reader,  not  of  our  right  reading  fashion,  happen  to  light  upon 
this  passage,  and  be  inclined  to  throw  down  the  book.  Come 
to  liis  aid  ;  for  he  docs  not  know  what  he  is  going  to  do  ; 
how  many  illustrious  jingles  he  is  about  to  vituperate. 

The  surgeon  I  speak  of  was  good  enough  one  day  to  take 
me  with  him  round  the  country,  to  visit  his  patients.  I 
was  startled  in  a  respectable  farm-house  to  hear  language 
openly  talked  in  a  mixed  party  of  males  and  females,  of  a 
kind  that  seldom  courts  publicity,  and  that  would  have 
struck  with  astonishment  an  eulogizer  of  pastoral  innocence. 
Yet  nobody  seemed  surprised  at  it ;  nor  did  it  bring  a  blush 
on  the  cheek  of  a  very  nice,  modest-looking  girl.  She  only 
smiled,  and  seemed  to  think  it  was  the  man's  way.  Proba- 
bly it  was  nothing  more  than  the  language  which  was 
spoken  in  the  first  circles  in  times  of  old,  and  which  thus 
survived  among  the  peasantry,  just  as  we  find  them  retain- 
ing words  that  have  grown  obsolete  in  cities.  The  guilt 
and  innocence  of  manners  very  much  depend  on  conventional 
agreement ;   that  is  to  say,  on  what  is  thought  of  them  with 


AN  APPALLING  SPECTACLE.  195 

respect  to  practice,  and  to  the  harm  or  otherwise  which  they 
are  actually  found  to  produce.  The  very  dress  which  would 
be  shameless  in  one  age  or  country,  is  respectable  in  another ; 
but  in  neither  case  is  it  a  moral  test.  When  the  shame 
goes  in  one  respect,  it  by  no  means  comes  in  another  ;  other- 
wise all  Turks  would  be  saints,  and  all  Europeans  sinners 
The  minds  of  the  people  in  the  Lincolnshire  farm-house  were 
"naked  and  not  ashamed."  It  must  be  owned,  however, 
that  there  was  an  amount  of  consciousness  about  them,  which 
savored  more  of  a  pagan  than  a  paradisaical  state  of  inno- 
cence. 

One  of  this  gentleman's  patients  was  v  ^musing.  He 
was  a  pompous  old  gentleman-farmer,  cultivating  his  gout  on 
two  chairs  and  laying  down  the  law  on  the  state  of  the 
nation.  Lord  Eldon  he  called  "  my  Lord  ElJ-iri"  (Elgin) ; 
and  he  showed  us  what  an  ignorant  man  this  chancellor 
was,  and  what  a  dreadful  thing  such  Avant  of  knowledge  was 
for  the  country.  The  proof  of  his  own  fitness  for  setting 
things  right,  was  thus  given  by  his  making  three  mistakes  in 
one  word.  He  took  Lord  Eldon  for  Lord  Elgin  ;  he  took 
Lord  Elgin  for  the  Chancellor  ;  and  he  pronounced  his  lord- 
ship's name  with  a  soft  g  instead  of  a  hard  one.  His  med- 
ical friend  was  of  course  not  bound  to  cure  his  spelling  as 
well  as  his  gout ;  so  we  left  him  in  the  full-blown  satisfac- 
tion of  having  struck  awe  on  the  Londoner. 

Dr.  Young  talks  of — 

"  That  hideous  sight,  a  naked  human  heart ;" 

a  line  not  fit  to  have  been  written  by  a  human  being.  The 
eight  of  the  physical  heart,  it  must  be  owned,  was  trying 
enough  to  sick  eyes  ;  that  of  the  doctor's  moral  heart,  ac- 
cording to  himself,  would  have  been  far  worse.  I  don't 
believe  it.  I  don't  believe  he  had  a  right  thus  to  calumni- 
ate it,  much  less  that  of  his  neighbor,  and  of  the  whole 
human  race. 

I  saw  a  worse  sight  than  the  heart,  in  a  journey  Avhich 
I  took  into  a  neighboring  county.  It  was  an  infant,  all 
over  sores,  and  cased  in  steel ;  the  result  of  the  irregularities 
of  its  father  ;   and  I  confess  that  I  would  rather  have  seen 


196  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

the  heart  of  the  very  father  of  that  child,  than  I  would  the 
child  himself  I  am  sure  it  must  have  bled  at  the  sight.  I 
am  sure  tliere  would  have  been  a  feeling  of  some  sort  to  vin- 
dicate nature,  granting  that  up  to  that  moment  the  man  had 
been  a  fool  or  even  a  scoundrel.  SuUenncss  itself  would 
have  been  some  amends  ;  some  sort  of  confession  and  regret. 
As  to  the  poor  child,  let  us  trust  that  the  horrible  spectacle 
prevented  more  such  ;  that  he  was  a  martyr,  dying  soon, 
and  going  to  some  heaven  where  little  souls  are  gathered 
into  comfort.  I  never  beheld  such  a  sight,  before  or  since, 
except  in  one  of  the  pictures  of  Hogarth,  in  his  Rake's 
Progress  ;  and  1  sadden  this  page  with  the  recollection,  for 
the  same  reason  that  induced  him  to  paint  it. 

I  have  mentioned  that  T  got  rid  of  a  palpitation  of  the 
lieart,  which*accompanied  my  first  visitation  of  hypochcn- 
dria,  by  riding  on  horseback.  The  palpitation  was  so  strong 
and  incessant,  that  I  was  forced,  for  some  nights,  to  sleep 
in  a  reclining  posture,  and  I  expected  sudden  death;  but 
when  I  began  the  horseback,  I  soon  found  that  the  more 
I  rode,  and  (I  used  to  think)  the  harder  I  rode,  the  less  the 
pal))itation  became.  Galloping  one  day,  up  a  sloping  piece 
of  ground,  the  horse  suddenly  came  to  a  stand,  by  a  chalk-- 
pit,  and  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  myself  not  only 
unprecipitated  over  his  head  (for  though  a  decent,  I  was  not 
a  skillful  rider),  but  in  a  state  of  singular  calmness,  and  self- 
possession — a  right,  proper,  masculine  state  of  nerves.  I 
might  have  discovered,  as  I  did  afterward,  what  it  was  that 
so  calmed  and  strengthened  me.  T  Avas  of  a  temperament  of 
body  in  which  the  pores  were  not  easily  opened  ;  and  the 
freer  they  were  kept,  the  better  I  was  ;  but  it  took  me  a 
long  time  to  discover,  that  in  order  to  be  put  into  a  state  of 
vigor  as  well  as  composure,  I  required  either  vigorous  exer- 
cise or  some  strong  moral  excitement  connected  with  the 
sense  of  action.  Unfortunately,  I  had  a  tendency  to  ex- 
tremes in  self  treatment.  At  one  time  I  thought  to  cure 
myself  by  cold  water  baths,  in  which  I  persevered  through 
a  winter  season  ;  and,  subsequently,  I  hurt  myself  by  hot 
baths.  Late  hours  at  nigl  ^  were  not  mended  by  lying  in 
bed  of  a  morning  ;    nor  incessant  reading  and  writing,  by 


INDOLENCE  AND  ACTIVITY.  197 

Aveeks  in  which  I  did  little  but  stroll  and  visit.  It  is  true, 
I  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  ever  been  without  a  book  ;  for 
if  not  in  my  hand,  it  was  at  my  side,  or  in  my  pocket ;  but 
what  I  needed  Avas  ordinary,  regular  habits,  accompanied 
with  a  more  than  ordinary  amount  of  exercise.  I  was  never 
either  so  happy  or  so  tranquil,  as  when  I  was  in  a  state  the 
most  active.  I  could  very  well  understand  the  character  of 
an  unknown  individual,  described  in  the  prose  works  of  Ben 
Jonson,  who  would  sit  writing,  day  and  night  till  he  faint- 
ed, and  then  so  entirely  give  himself  up  to  diversion,  that 
people  despaired  of  getting  him  to  work  again.  But  I  sym- 
pathized still  more  with  one  of  the  Rucellai  family,  who  was 
so  devoted  to  a  sedentary  life,  that  he  could  not  endure  the 
thought  of  being  taken  from  it ;  till  being  forced,  in  a  man- 
ner, to  accept  a  diplomatic  mission,  he  became  as  vehement  for 
a  life  of  action  as  he  had  before  been  absorbed  in  indolence, 
and  was  never  satisfied  till  he  was  driving  every  thing 
before  him,  and  spinning,  with  his  chariot-wheels,  from  one 
court  to  another.  If  I  had  not  a  reverence,  indeed,  for 
whatever  has  taken  place  in  the  ordinance  of  things,  great 
and  small,  I  should  often  have  fancied  that  some  such  busi- 
ness of  diplomacy  Avould  have  been  my  proper  vocation  ;  for 
I  delight  in  imagining  conferences  upon  points  that  are  to 
be  carried,  or  scenes  in  which  thrones  are  looked  upon,  and 
national  compliments  are  to  be  conveyed  ;  and  I  am  sure 
that  a  great  deal  of  action  would  have  Icept  me  in  the  finest 
health.  Whatever  dries  up  the  surface  of  my  body,  intim- 
idates me ;  but  when  the  reverse  has  been  efiected  by  any 
thing  except  the  warm  bath,  fear  has  forsaken  me,  and  my 
spirit  has  felt  as  broad  and  healthy  as  my  shoulders. 

I  did  not  discover  this  particular  cause  of  healthy  sensation 
till  long  after  my  recovery.  I  attributed  it  entirely  to  exer- 
cise in  general ;  but  by  exercise,  at  all  events  (and  I  mention 
the  whole  circumstance  for  the  benefit  of  the  nervous),  health 
was  restored  to  me  ;  and  I  maintained  it  as  long  as  I  per- 
severed in  the  means. 

Not  long  after  convalescence,  the  good  that  had  been  done 
me  Avas  put  further  to  the  test.  Some  friends,  among  Avliom 
were  two  of  my  brothers  and  rrVself,  had  a  day's  boating  up 


198  LII'E  OF  LEIGH  HUNT 

the  Thames.  We  were  very  merry  and  jovial,  and  not  pre- 
pared to  think  any  obstacle,  in  the  way  of  our  satisfaction, 
l)ossibIe.  Oil  a  sudden  we  perceive  a  line  stretched  across 
the  river  by  some  fishermen.  We  call  out  to  them  to  lower, 
or  take  it  away.  They  say  they  will  not.  One  of  us  holds 
up  a  knife,  and  proclaims  his  intention  to  cut  it.  The  fish- 
ermen defy  the  knife.  Forward  goes  the  knife  with  the  boat, 
and  cuts  the  line  in  the  most  beautiful  manner  conceivable. 
The  two  halves  of  the  line  rushed  asunder. 

"  Off,"  cry  the  fishermen  to  one  another,  "  and  duck  'em." 
They  push  out  their  boat.  Their  wives  (I  forget  whence 
they  issued)  appear  on  the  bank,  echoing  the  cry  of  "  Duck 
'em."  We  halt  on  our  oars,  and  are  come  up  with,  the 
fishermen  looking  as  savage  as  wild  islanders,  and  swearing 
might  and  main.  My  brother  and  myself,  not  to  let  us  all 
be  run  down  (for  the  fishermen's  boat  was  much  larger  than 
ours,  and  avc  had  ladies  with  us,  who  were  terrified)  told  the 
enemy  we  would  come  among  them. .  We  did  so,  going  from 
our  boat  into  theirs. 

The  ".termination  to  duck  us  now  became  manifest 
enough,  and  the  fishermen's  wives  (cruel  with  their  husbands' 
lost  fishing)  seemed  equally  determined  not  to  let  the  intention 
remit.  They  screamed  and  yelled  like  so  many  furies.  The 
fishermen  seized  my  brother  John,  whom  they  took  for  the 
cutter  of  the  line,  and  would  have  instantly  effected  their 
purpose,  had  he  not  been  clasped  round  the  waist  by  my 
brother  Robert,  who  kept  him  tight  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
hold.  A  violent  struggle  ensued,  during  which  a  ruffianly 
fellow  aiming  a  blow  at  my  brother  John's  face,  whose  arms 
were  pinioned,  I  had  the  good  luck  to  intercept  it.  Mean- 
while the  wives  of  the  boaters  were  screaming  as  well  as  the 
wives  of  the  fishermen ;  and  it  was  asked  our  antagonists, 
whether  it  was  befitting  brave  men  to  frighten  women  out 
of  their  senses. 

The  fury  seemed  to  relax  a  little  at  this.  The  word 
"  payment"  was  mentioned,  which  seemed  to  relax  it  more ; 
but  it  was  still  divided  between  threat  and  demand,  when,  in 
the  midst  of  a  fresh  outbreak  of  the  first  resolution,  beautiful 
evidence  was  furnishedofthemagicaleffectsof  the  word  "  law  " 


AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  THAMES.  19S 

Luckily  for  our  friends  and  ourselves  <'for  the  enemy  had 
the  advantage  of  us,  both  in  strength  and  numbers),  the 
owner  of  the  boat,  it  seems,  had  lately  been  worsted  in  some 
action  of  trespass,  probably  of  the  very  nature  of  what  they 
had  been  doing  with  their  line.  I  was  then  living  with  my 
brother  S.,  who  was  in  the  law.  I  happened  to  be  dressed 
in  black  ;  and  I  had  gathered  from  some  words  which  fell  from 
them  during  their  rage,  that  what  they  had  been  about  with 
their  fishing-net,  was  in  all  probability  illegal.  I  assumed  it 
to  be  so.  I  mentioned  the  dreaded  "word  "  law  ;"  my  black 
coat  corroborated  its  impression  ;  and,  to  our  equal  relief  and 
surprise,  we  found  them  on  the  sudden  converting  their  rage 
and  extortion  into  an  assumption  that  we  meant  to  settle 
with  their  master,  and  quietly  permitting  us  to  get  back  to 
our  friends. 

Throughout  this  little  rough  adventure,  which  at  one  time 
threatened  very  distressing,  if  not  serious  consequences,  I  was 
glad  to  find  that  I  underwent  no  apprehensions  but  such  as 
became  me.  The  pain  and  horror  that  used  to  be  given  me 
at  sight  of  human  antagonism  never  entered  my  head.  I 
felt  nothing  but  a  flow  of  brotherhood  and  determination, 
and  returned  in  fine  breathing  condition  to  the  oar.  I  sub- 
sequently found  that  all  corporate  occasions  of  excitement 
aflected  me  in  the  same  healthy  manner.  The  mere  fact 
of  being  in  a  crowd  when  their  feelings  were  strongly 
moved,  to  whatever  purpose,  roused  all  that  was  strong 
in  me  ;  and  from  the  alacrity,  and  even  comfort  and  joy, 
into  which  I  was  warmed  by  the  thought  of  resistance  to 
whatever  wrong  might  demand  it,  I  learned  plainly  enough 
what  a  formidable  thing  a  human  being  might  become  if  he 
took  wrong  for  right,  and  what  reverence  was  due  to  the 
training  and  just  treatment  of  the  myriads  that  compose  a 
nation. 

I  was  now  again  in  a  state  of  perfect  comfort  and  enjoy- 
ment, the  gayer  for  the  cloud  which  had  gone,  though  occa- 
sionally looking  back  on  it  with  gravity,  and  prepared,  alas ! 
or  rather  preparing  myself  by  degrees  to  undergo  it  again  in 
the  course  of  a  few  years,  by  relapsing  into  a  sedentary  life. 
Suffer  as  I  might  have  done,  I  had  not,  it  seems,  suffered 


200 


LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 


enough.  However,  the  time  was  very  dehghtful  while  it 
lasted.  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  my  books,  my  walks,  my 
companions,  my  verses  ;  and  I  had  never  ceased  to  be  ready 
to  fall  in  love  Avith  the  first  tender-hearted  damsel  that  should 
encourage  me.  Now  it  was  a  fair  charmer,  and  now  a 
brunette  ;  now  a  girl  who  sang,  or  a  girl  who  danced  ;  now 
one  that  was  merry,  or  was  melancholy,  or  seemed  to  care 
for  nothing,  or  for  every  thing,  or  was  a  good  friend,  or  good 
sister,  or  good  daughter.  With  this  last,  who  completed  her 
conquest  by  reading  verses  better  than  I  had  ever  heard,  I 
ultimately  became  wedded  for  life;  and  she  reads  verses 
better  than  ever,  to  this  day,  especially  some  that  shall  be 
nameless. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     EXAMINEE.. 

Establishment  of  the  Examiner. — Albany  Fonblanque. — Author's  mis- 
takes in  setting  out  in  his  editorial  career. — Objects  of  the  Examiner, 
and  misrepresentations  of  them  by  the  Tories. — Jeu  d'esprit  of  "  Na- 
poleon in  his  Cabinet." — "  Breakfast  Sympathies  with  the  Miseries 
of  War."' — War  dispassionately  considered. — Anti-republicanism  of 
the  Examiner,  and  its  views  in  theology. — The  Author  for  some  time 
a  clerk  in  the  War  Office. — His  patron,  Jlr.  Addington,  afterward 
Lord  Sidmoulh. — Poetry  and  accounts. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  year  1808,  my  brother  John  and 
myself  set  up  the  weekly  paper  of  the  Examiner  in  joint 
partnership.  It  was  named  after  the  'Examiner  of  Swift 
and  his  brother  Tories.  I  did  not  think  of  their  politics.  I 
thought  only  of  their  wit  and  fine  writing,  which,  in  my 
youthful  confidence,  I  proposed  to  myself  to  emulate  ;  and  I 
could  find  no  previous  political  journal  equally  qualified  to  be 
its  godfather.  Even  Addison  had  called  his  opposition  papei 
the  Whig  Examiner. 

Some  dozen  years  afterward  I  had  an  editorial  successor, 
Mr.  Fonblanque,  who  had  all  the  wit  for  which  I  toiled, 
without  making  any  pretensions  to  it.  He  was,  indeed,  the 
genuine  successor,  not  of  mc,  but  of  the  Swifts  and  Addisons 
themselves  ;  profuse  of  wit  even  beyond  them,  and  superior 
in  political  knowledge.  Yet,  if  I  labored  hard  for  what  was 
so  easy  to  Mr.  Fonblanque,  I  will  not  pretend  to  think  that 
I  did  not  sometimes  find  it ;  and  the  study  of  Addison  and 
Steele,  of  Goldsmith  and  Voltaire,  enabled  me,  when  I  was 
pleased  with  my  subject,  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  ease. 
At  other  times,  especially  on  serious  occasions,  I  too  often 
got  into  a  declamatory  vein,  full  of  what  I  thought  fine  turns 
and  Johnsonian  antithesis.  The  new  office  of  editor  conspired 
with  my  success  as  a  critic  to  turn  my  head.  I  wrote, 
though  anonymously,  in  the  first  person,  as  if,  in  addition  to 
my  theatrical  pretensions,  I  had  suddenly  become  an  oracle 

I* 


202 


LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 


in  politics  ;  the  words  philosophy,  poetry,  criticism,  statesman- 
ship, nay,  even  ethics  and  theology,  all  took  a  final  tone  in 
my  lips  ;  and  when  I  consider  the  virtue  as  Mell  as  knowl- 
edge which  I  demanded  from  every  body  whom  I  had  occasion 
to  speak  of,  and  of  how  much  charity  my  own  juvenile  errors 
ought  to  have  considered  themselves  in  need  (however  they 
might  have  been  warranted  by  conventional  allowance),  I 
will  not  say  I  was  a  hypocrite  in  the  odious  sense  of  the 
word,  for  it  was  all  done  out  of  a  spirit  of  foppery  and  "  fine 
writing,"  and  I  never  affected  any  formal  virtues  in  private  ; 
but  when  I  consider  all  the  nonsense  and  extravagance  of 
those  assumptions — all  the  harm  they  must  have  done  me  in 
discerning  eyes,  and  all  the  reasonable  amount  of  resentment 
which  it  was  preparing  for  me  with  adversaries,  I  blush  to 
think  what  a  simpleton  I  was,  and  how  much  of  the  conse- 
quences I  deserved.  It  is  out  of  no  "ostentation  of  candor" 
that  I  make  this  confession.  It  is  extremely  painful  to  me. 
Suffering  gradually  worked  me  out  of  a  good  deal  of  this 
kind  of  egotism.  I  hope  that  even  the  present  most  involun- 
tarily egotistical  book  affords  evidence  that  I  am  pretty  well 
rid  of  it ;  and  I  must  add,  in  my  behalf,  that,  in  every  other 
respect,  never,  at  that  time  or  at  any  after  time,  was  I  other- 
wise than  an  honest  man.  I  overrated  my  claims  to  public 
attention  ;  I  greatly  overdid  the  manner  of  addressing  it  ;  and 
I  was  not  too  abundant  in  either  ;  but  I  set  out,  perhaps, 
with  as  good  an  editorial  amount  of  qualification  as  most 
writers  no  older.  I  was  fairly  grounded  in  English  history  ; 
I  had  carefully  read  De  Lolme  and  Blackstone ;  I  had  no 
mercenary  views  whatsoever,  though  I  was  a  proprietor  of 
the  journal ;  and  all  the  levity  of  my  animal  spirits,  and  the 
foppery  of  the  graver  part  of  my  pretensions,  had  not  de- 
stroyed in  me  that  spirit  of  martyrdom  which  had  been  in- 
culcated in  me  from  the  cradle.  I  denied  myself  political 
as  \vell  as  theatrical  acquaintances ;  I  was  the  reverse  of  a 
speculator  upon  patronage  or  employment ;  and  I  was  pre- 
pared, with  my  excellent  brother,  to  suffer  manfully,  should 
the  time  for  suffering  arrive. 

The  spirit  of  the  criticism  on  the  theatres  continued  the 
same  as  it  had  been  in  the   Neivs.      In  politics,  from  old 


ANTI-EXAMINER  CHARGES  REFUTED.  !20b 

family  associations,  I  soon  got  interested  as  a  man,  though  I 
never  could  love  them  as  a  writer.  It  was  against  the  grain 
that  I  was  encouraged  to  begin  them  ;  and  against  the  grain 
I  ever  afterward  sat  down  to  write,  except  when  the  subject 
was  of  a  very  general  description,  and  I  could  introduce  phi- 
losophy and  the  belles-lettres. 

The  main  objects  of  the  Examiner  newspaper  were  to  as 
sist  in  producing  Reform  in  Parliament,  liberality  of  opinion 
in  general  (especially  freedom  from  superstition),  and  a  fusion 
of  literary  taste  into  all  subjects  whatsoever.  It  began  with 
being  of  no  party ;  but  Reform  soon  gave  it  one.  It  dis- 
claimed all  knowledge  of  statistics ;  and  the  rest  of  its  poli- 
ties were  rather  a  sentiment,  and  a  matter  of  training,  than 
founded  on  any  particular  political  reflection.  It  possessed 
the  benefit,  however,  of  a  good  deal  of  general  reading.  It 
never  wanted  examples  out  of  history  and  biography,  or  a 
kind  of  adornment  from  the  spirit  of  literature  ;  and  it  grad- 
i;ally  drew  to  its  perusal  many  intelligent  persons  of  both 
sexes,  who  would,  perhaps,  never  have  attended  to  politics 
under  any  other  circumstances. 

In  the  course  of  its  warfare  with  the  Tories,  the  Examiner 
was  charged  with  Bonapartism,  with  republicanism,  with 
disaffection  to  Church  and  State,  with  conspiracy  at  the 
tables  of  Burdett,  and  Cobbett,  and  Henry  Hunt.  Now  Sir 
Francis,  though  he  was  for  a  long  time  our  hero,  we  never  ex- 
changed a  word  with  ;  and  Cobbett  and  Henry  Hunt  (no  rela- 
tion of  ours)  wc  never  beheld ;  never  so  much  as  saw  their 
faces.  I  was  never  even  at  a  public  dinner  ;  nor  do  I  believe 
my  brother  was.  AVc  had  absolutely  no  views  Avhatsoever, 
but  those  of  a  decent  competence  and  of  the  public  good  ;  and 
we  thought,  I  dare  affirm,  a  great  deal  more  of  the  latter 
than  of  the  former.  Our  competence  wc  allowed  too  much 
to  shift  for  itsell".  Zeal  for  the  public  good  was  a  family  in- 
heritance ;  and  this  we  thought  ourselves  bound  to  increase. 
As  to  myself,  what  I  thought  of,  more  than  either,  was  the 
making  of  verses.  I  did  nothing  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  week  but  write  verses  and  read  books.  I  then  made 
a  rush  at  my  editorial  duties  ;  took  a  world  of  superfluous 
pains  in  the  writing  ;  sat  up  late  at  night,  and  was  a  very 


201  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

trying  person  to  corapositoi-s  and  newsmen.  I  sometimes 
have  before  me  the  ghost  of  a  pale  and  gouty  printer  whom 
I  specially  caused  to  sufier,  and  who  never  complained.  I 
think  of  him  and  of  some  needy  dramatist,  and  wish  they 
had  been  worse  men. 

The  Examiner  commenced  at  the  time  when  Bonaparte 
was  at  the  height  of  his  power.  He  had  the  continent  at 
his  feet ;  and  three  of  his  brothers  were  on  thrones.  The 
reader  may  judge  of  our  Bonapartist  tendencies  by  the  fol- 
lowing dramatic  sketch,  which  appeared  in  the  first  num- 
ber : 

NAPOLEON    IN    HIS    CABINET. 

ScE^'E — A  Cabinet  at  St.  Cloud. 

Napoleon.  [Ruminating  before  a  fire  and  grasping  a  poker.]  Who 
waits  there  ? 

Le  M.  May  it  please  your  majesty,  your  faithful  soldier,  Le 
Meurtrier. 

Nap.  Tell  Sultan  Mustapha  that  he  is  the  last  of  the  sultans. 

Le  M.  Yes,  sire. 

Nap.  And,  hark  ye — desire  the  king  of  Holland  to  come  to  me 
directly. 

Le  M.  Yes,  sire. 

Nap.  And  the  king  of  Westphalia. — [jlside]  I  must  tweak  Jerome 
by  the  nose  a  little,  to  teach  him  dignity. 

Le  M.  [With  hesitation.]  M.  Champagny,  sire,  waits  to  know  your 
Majesty's  pleasure  respecting  the  king  of  Sweden. 

Nap.  Oh — tell  him,  I'll  let  the  boy  alone  for  a  month  or  two.  And 
stay,  Le  Meurtrier ;  go  to  the  editor  of  the  3foniteur,  and  tell  him  to 
dethrone  the  queen  of  Portugal.  Spain's  dethi-onement  is  put  off  to 
next  year.     Where's  Bienseance  ? 

[Exit  Le  Meurtrier,  and  enter  Bienseance. 

BiEN.  May  it  please  your  august  majesty,  Bienseance  is  before 
you. 

Nap.  Fetch  me  General  F.'s  head,  and  a  cup  of  coffee. 

BiEN.  [Smiling  with  devotion].  Every  syllable  uttered  by  the  great 
Napoleon  convinces  Frenchmen  that  he  is  their  father. 

[Exit  Bienseance. 

Nap.  [Meditating  with  feroeity].  After  driving  the  Turks  out  of 
Europe  [pokes  the  fire],  I  must  annihilate  England  [gives  a  furimts 
poke] ;  but  first  I  .shall  over-run  India ;  then  I  shall  request  America 
and  Africa  to  put  themselves  under  my  protection ;  and  after  making 


•'  BREAKFAST  SYMPATHIES  ON  WAR."  205 

that  great  jackass,  the  Russian  emperor,  one  of  my  tributaries,  crown 
myself  emperor  of  the  cast — ^^vest — north — and  south.  Then  I  mutt 
have  a  balloon  ai-my,  of  which  Garnerin  shall  be  field-marslial ;  for  I 
must  positively  take  possession  of  the  comet,  because  it  makes  a  noise. 
That  will  assist  me  to  conquer  the  solar  system :  and  then  I  shall  go 
with  my  army  to  the  other  systems ;  and  then — I  think — I  shall  go  to 
the  devil. 

I  thought  of  Bonaparte  at  that  time  as  I  have  thought 
ever  since  ;  to-wit,  that  he  was  a  great  soldier,  and  httle 
else ;  that  he  was  not  a  man  of  the  highest  order  of  intellect, 
much  less  a  cosmopolite ;  that  he  was  a  retrospective  rather 
than  a  prospective  man,  ambitious  of  old  renown  instead  of 
new  ;  and  would  advance  the  age  as  far,  and  no  farther,  as 
suited  his  views  of  personal  aggrandizement.  The  Examiner, 
however  much  it  differed  with  the  military  policy  of  Bona- 
parte's antagonists,  or  however  meanly  it  thought  of  their 
understandings,  never  overrated  his  own,  or  was  one  of  his 
partisans.  What  it  thought  of  war  and  conquest  in  general 
may  be  gathered  from  another  jeu-cV esprit — a  jest,  like 
many  another  jest,  with  laughter  on  its  lips,  and  melancholy 
at  heart.  It  was  entitled,  Breakfast  Sympathies  ivith  the 
Miseries  of  War. 

Two  Gentlemen  and  a  Lady  at  Breakfast. 

A.  \^Reading  the  ncivspaper,  and  eating  at  every  tivo  or  three  ivords]. 
"The  combat  lasted  twelve  hours and  the  two  armies  sepa- 
rated at  nine  in  the  evening leaving  30,000  men  literally  cut 

to  pieces  !"  (another  piece  of  toast,  if  you  please)  "on  the  field  of." 
....  Stop,  30,000  is  it?  [looking  at  the  paper  closely].  Egad,  I  be- 
lieve, it's  50,000.  Tom,  is  that  a  three  or  a  five  ?  Oh,  a  five.  That 
paper's  horridly  printed. 

B.  Very  indeed. — Well,  "leaving  50,000  men  on  the  field  of  battle." 
— 50,000! — that's  a  great- number  to  be  killed  with  the  bayonet,  eh  ! 
War's  a  horrid  [sips]  thing. 

The  Lady.     Oh,  shocking!      [Takes  a  large  bit  of  toast]. 
B.   Oh,  monstrous  !     [Takes  a  larger]. 

A.  [Reading  on].  "  One  of  the  French  generals  of  division  riding 
up  to  the  emperor  with  a  sabre  covered  with  blood,  after  a  charge  of 
cavalry,  exclaimed," — stick  your  fork  into  that  slice  of  ham  for  me, 
Tom — thankye — "exclaimed — There  is  not  a  man  in  my  regiment 
whose  sword  is  not  like  this.     The  two  armi — " 

B.  What?     What  was  that  about  the  sword ? 

A.  Why,  his  own  sword,  you  know,  was  covered  with  blood.  Didn't 
you  hear  me  read  it  ?     And  so  he  said.  There  is  not  a — 


'20G  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  PIUNT. 

B.  Ay,  ay — whose  sword  is  not  like  this.  I  understand  you.  Gad, 
what  a  I'ellow ! 

A.  [Sips.]   Oh,  horrid! 

The  Lady.  [Si^js.]  Oh,  shocking  !  Das/i,  get  down  :  how  can  you 
be  so? 

A.  "  The  two  armi — " 

B.  By-thc-by,  have  you  heard  of  Mrs.  W.'s  accident  ? 

A.  AND  THE  Lady.  [PtUting  down  their  cups\.  No!  what  can 
it  be? 

A.  Poor  thing  !  her  husband's  half  mad,  I  suppose. 

B.  Why,  she  has  broken  her  arm. 

The  Lady.  Good  God !  I  declare  you've  made  me  quite  sick.  Poor 
dear  Mrs.  W. !  Why  she'll  be  obliged  to  wear  her  arm  in  a  shng  ! 
But  she  would  go  out  this  slippery  weather,  when  the  frost's  enough 
to  kill  one. 

B.  Well,  I  must  go  and  tell  my  father  the  news.  Let's  see — how 
many  men  killed,  Charles  ? 

A.  50,000. 

B.  Ah,  50,000.     Good-morning.     [Exit.] 

The  Lady.  Poor  dear  Mrs.  W.,  I  can't  help  thinking  about  her.  A 
broken  arm  !  Why,  it's  quite  a  dreadful  thing !  I  wonder  whether 
Mrs.  F.  has  heard  the  news. 

B.   She'll  see  it  in  this  morning's  paper,  you  know. 

Lady.  Oh,  what  it's  in  the  paper,  is  it? 

B.  [Laughing.]  Why,  didn't  you  hear  Charles  read  it  just  now? 

Lady.  Oh,  that  news.  No,  I  mean  poor  INIrs.  W.  Poor  dear ! 
[meditating]  I  wonder  whether  she'll  wear  a  black  sling  or  a  blue.* 
[Exeunt']. 

I  now  look  upon  war  as  one  of  the  fleeting  necessities  of 
things  in  the  course  of  human  progress  ;  as  an  evil  (like  all 
other  evils)  to  be  regarded  in  relation  to  some  other  evil  that 
would  have  been  worse  without  it,  but  always  to  be  considered 
as  an  indication  of  comparative  barbarism — as  a  necessity,  the 
perpetuity  of  which  is  not  to  be  assumed  or  encouraged — or 
as  a  half  reasoning  mode  of  adjustment,  whether  of  disputes 
or  of  populations,  which  mankind,  on  arriving  at  years  of 
discretion,  and  coming  to  a  better  understanding  with  one 
another,  may,  and  must  of  necessity,  do  away.  It  would 
be  as  ridiculous  to  associate  the  idea  of  war  with  an  earth 
covered  with  railroads  and  commerce,  as  a  fight  between 
Holborn  and  the  Strand,  or  between  people  met  in  a  drawl- 
ing-room.    Wars,  like  all  other  evils,  have  not  been  without 

*  Examiner,  vol.  i.  p.  748. 


CONSTITUTIONALISM  OF  THE  "EXAMINER."         207 

their  good.  They  have  pioneered  human,  intercourse;  have 
thus  prepared  even  for  their  own  eventual  abolition  ;  and 
their  follies,  losses,  and  horrors  have  been  made  the  best  of 
by  adornments  and  music,  and  consoled  by  the  exhibition  of 
many  noble  qualities.  There  is  no  evil  unmixed  with,  or 
unproductive  of  good.  It  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
exist.  Antagonism  itself  prevents  it.  But  nature  incites 
us  to  the  diminution  of  evil  ;  and  while  it  is  pious  to  make 
the  best  of  what  is  inevitable,  it  is  no  less  so  to  obey  the 
impulse  which  she  has  given  us  toward  thinking  and  making 
it  otherwise. 

With  respect  to  the  charge  of  republicanism  against  the 
Exa?7ii?ier,  it  was  as  ridiculous  as  the  rest.  Both  Napoleon 
and  the  allies  did,  indeed,  so  conduct  themselves  on  the  high 
roads  of  empire  and  royalty,  and  the  British  sceptre  was  at 
the  same  time  so  unfortunately  wielded,  that  kings  and 
princes  were  often  treated  with  less  respect  in  our  pages 
than  we  desired.  But  we  generally  felt  and  often  expressed 
a  wish  to  treat  them  otherwise.  The  Examiner  was  always 
quoting  against  them  the  Alfreds  and  Antoninuses  of  old. 
The  "  Constitution,"  with  its  King,  Lords,  and  Commons, 
was  its  incessant  watchword.  The  greatest  political  change 
which  it  desired  was  Reform  in  Parliament ;  and  it  helped 
to  obtain  it,  because  it  was  in  earnest.  As  to  republics,  the 
United  States,  notwithstanding  our  family  relationship,  were 
no  favorites  with  us,  owing  to  their  love  of  money  and  their 
want  of  the  imaginative  and  ornamental ;  and  the  excesses 
of  the  French  Revolution  we  held  in  abhorrence. 

With  regard  to  Church  and  State,  the  connection  was  of 
course  duly  recognized  by  admirers  of  the  English  constitu- 
tion. We  desired,  it  is  true,  reform  in  both,  being  far  greater 
admirers  of  Christianity  in  its  primitive  than  in  any  of  its 
subsequent  shapes,  and  hearty  accorders  with  the  dictum  of 
the  apostle,  who  said  that  the  "  letter  killeth,  but  the  spirit 
givcth  life."  Our  version  of  religious  faith  was  ever  nearer 
to  what  M.  Lamartine  has  called  the  "  New  Christianity," 
than  to  that  of  Doctors  Ilorsley  and  Philpotts.  But  we 
heartily  advocated  the  mild  spirit  of  religious  government, 
as  exercised  by  the  Church  of  England,  in  opposition  to  the 


208  LIFE  OF  LKKill  HUNT. 

bigoted  part  of  dissent ;  and  in  furtherance  of  this  advocacy, 
the  first  volume  of  the  Examiner  contained  a  series  of 
JEssaijs  on  the  Fully  and  Danger  of  Mcthodisni,  which 
were  afterward  collected  into  a  pamphlet.  So  "  orthodox" 
were  these  essays,  short  of  points  from  which  common  sense 
and  humanity  always  appeared  to  us  to  revolt,  and  from 
which  the  deliverance  of  the  church  itself  is  now,  I  believe, 
not  far  off,  that  in  duty  to  our  hope  of  that  deliverance,  I 
afterward  thought  it  necessary  to  guard  against  the  conclu- 
sions which  might  have  been  drawn  from  them,  as  to  the 
amount  of  our  assent.  A  church  appeared  to  me  then,  as  it 
still  does,  an  instinctive  want  in  the  human  family.  I  never 
to  this  day  pass  one,  even  of  a  kind  the  most  unreformed,  with- 
out a  wish  to  go  into  it  and  join  my  fellow-creatures  in  their 
affecting  evidence  of  the  necessity  of  an  additional  tie  Avith 
Deity  and  Infinity,  with  this  world  and  the  next.  But  the 
wish  is  accompanied  with  an  afflicting  regret  that  I  can  not 
recognize  it,  free  from  barbarisms  derogatory  to  both ;  and  I 
sigh  for  some  good  old  country  church,  finally  delivered  from 
the  corruptions  of  the  Councils,  and  breathing  nothing  but 
the  peace  and  love  befitting  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  I 
believe  that  a  time  is  coming,  Avhen  such  doctrine,  and  such 
only,  will  be  preached  ;  and  my  future  grave,  by  some  old 
ivied  tower,  seems  quieter  for  the  consummation.  But  I 
anticipate. 

For  a  short  period  before  and  after  the  setting  up  of  the 
Examiner,  I  was  a  clerk  in  the  War  Oflice.  The  situa- 
tion was  given  me  by  Mr.  Addington,  then  prime  minister, 
afterward  Lord  Sidmouth,  who  knew  my  father.  My  sorry 
stock  of  arithmetic,  which  I  taught  myself  on  purpose,  was 
sufficient  for  the  work  which  I  had  to  do  ;  but  otherwise  I 
made  a  bad  clerk;  wasting  my  time  and  that  of  others  in 
perpetual  jesting  ;  going  too  late  to  oflice  ;  and  feeling  con- 
scious that  if  I  did  not  quit  the  situation  myself,  nothing  Avas 
more  likely,  or  would  have  been  more  just,  than  a  suggestion 
to  that  efiect  from  others.  The  establishment  of  the  Exajn- 
incr,  and  the  tone  respecting  the  court  and  the  ministry 
which  I  soon  thought  myself  bound  to  adopt,  increased  the 
sense  of  the  propriety  of  this  measure  ;   and,  accordingly,  I 


PROSAIC  AND  POETIC  NUMBERS.  209 

sent  in  my  resignation.  Mr.  Addington  had  fortunately- 
teased  to  be  minister  before  the  Examiner  was  set  up  ;  and 
though  I  had  occasion  afterward  to  differ  extremely  with  the 
measures  approved  of  by  him  as  Lord  Sidmouth,  I  never 
forgot  the  personal  respect  which  I  owed  him  for  his  kind- 
ness to  myself,  to  his  own  amiable  manners,  and  to  his  un- 
doubted, though  not  wise,  conscientiousness.  He  had  been 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  a  situation  for  which  his 
figure  and  deportment  at  that  time  of  life  admirably  fitted 
him.  I  think  I  hear  his  fine  voice,  in  his  house  at  Richmond 
Park,  good-naturedly  expressing  to  me  his  hope,  in  the  words 
of  the  poet,  that  it  might  one  day  be  said  of  me, 

" —  Not  in  fancy's  maze  he  wandered  long, 
But  stoop'd  to  truth,  and  moraliz'd  his  song." 

The  sounding  words,  "  moralized  his  song,"  came  toning  out 
of  his  dignified  utterance  like  "sonorous  metal."  This  was 
when  I  went  to  thank  him  for  the  clerkship.  I  afterward 
sat  on  the  grass  in  the  park,  feeling  as  if  I  was  in  a  dream, 
and  wondering  how  I  should  reconcile  my  propensity  to 
verse-making  with  sums  in  addition.  The  minister,  it  was 
clear,  thought  them  not  incompatible  :  nor  are  they.  Let 
nobody  think  otherwise,  unless  he  is  prepared  to  suffer  for 
the  mistake,  and  what  is  worse,  to  make  others  suflcr.  The 
body  of  the  British  Poets  themselves  shall  confute  him,  with 
Chaucer  at  their  head,  who  was  a  "  comptroller  of  woor' 
'^.nd  "  clerk  of  works," 

"  Thou  hcarest  neither  that  nor  this, 

•  says  the  eagle  to  him  in  the  House  of  Fame) : 

For  when  thy  labor  all  done  is. 
And  hast  made  all  thy  reckonings, 
Instead  of  rest  and  of  new  things, 
Thou  goest  home  to  thine  house  anon, 
And  all  so  dumb  as  any  stone 
Thou  sittest  at  another  book, 
Till  fully  dazed  is  thy  look." 

Lamb,  it  is  true,  though  he  stuck  to  it,  has  complained 
of 

•'  The  drv  druduerv  of  the  desk's  dead  wood ;' 


210  LIFE  OF  LKIGH  HUNT. 

and  hoAV  Chaucer  contrived  to  settle  his  accounta  in  the 
month  of  May,  when  as  he  tells  us,  he  could  not  help  pass- 
ing whole  days  in  the  lields,  looking  at  the  daisies,  his  bio- 
graphers do  not  inform  us.  The  case,  as  in  all  other  matters, 
can  only  be  vindicated,  or  otherwise,  by  the  consequences. 
But  that  is  a  perilous  responsibility ;  and  it  involves  assump- 
tions which  ought  to  be  startling  to  the  modesty  of  young 
rhyming  gentlemen  not  in  the  receipt  of  an  income. 

I  did  not  give  up,  however,  a  certainty  for  an  uncertainty. 
The  Exaviiner  was  fully  established  when  I  quitted  the 
office.  My  friends  thought  that  I  should  be  better  able  to 
attend  to  it;  and  it  was  felt,  at  any  rate,  that  I  could  not 
with  propriety  remain.  So  I  left  my  fellow-clerks  to  their 
better  behavior  and  quieter  rooms  ;  and  set  my  face  in  the 
direction  of  stormy  politics. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LITERARY     ACQUAINTANCES. 

du  Bois. — Campbell. — Theodore  Hook. — IMathews. — James  and 
Horace  Smith. — Fuseli. — Bonnycastlo. — Kinnaird,  &c. 

JuhT  after  this  period  I  fell  in  with  a  new  set  of  acquaint- 
ances, accounts  of  whom  may  not  be  uninteresting.  I  for- 
get what  it  was  that  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Hill,  proprietor 
of  the  Monthly  Mirror;  but  at  his  house  at  )Sydenham  I 
used  to  meet  his  editor,  Du  Bois  ;  Thomas  Campbell,  who 
was  his  neighbor  ;  and  the  two  Smiths,  authors  of  The 
Rejected  Addresses.  I  saw  also  Theodore  Hook,  and  Ma- 
thews the  comedian.  Our  host  was  a  jovial  bachelor,  plump 
and  rosy  as  an  abbot ;  and  no  abbot  could  have  presided  over 
a  more  festive  Sunday.  The  wine  flowed  merrily  and  long : 
the  discourse  kept  pace  with  it ;  and  next  morning  in  return- 
ing to  town,  we  felt  ourselves  very  thirsty.  A  pump  by  the 
roadside,  with  a  plash  round  it,  was  a  bewitching  sight. 

Du  Bois  was  one  of  those  wits,  who,  like  the  celebrated 
Eachard,  have  no  faculty  of  gravity.  His  handsome  hawk's 
eyes  looked  blank  at  a  speculation  ;  but  set  a  joke  or  a  piece 
of  raillery  in  motion,  and  they  sparkled  with  wit  and  malice. 
Nothing  could  bo  more  trite  or  commonplace  than  his  serious 
observations.  Acquiescences  they  should  rather  have  been 
called ;  for  he  seldom  ventured  upon  a  gravity,  but  in  echo 
of  another's  remark.  If  he  did,  it  was  in  defense  of  ortho- 
doxy, of  which  he  was  a  great  advocate;  but  his  quips  and 
cranks  were  infinite.  He  was  also  an  excellent  scholar,  he. 
Dr.  King  and  Eachard,  would  have  made  a  capital  trio  over 
a  table,  for  scholarship,  mirth,  drinking,  and  religion.  Ho 
was  intimate  with  Sir  Philip  Francis,  and  gave  the  public 
a  new  edition  of  the  Horace  of  Sir  Philip's  father.  The 
literary  world  knew  him  well  also  as  the  writer  of  a  pop- 


'212  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ular  novel,   in  the  genuine  Fielding  manner,  entitled    Old 
Nick. 

Mr.  Du  Bois  held  his  editorship  of  the  Monthly  Mirror 
very  cheap.  lie  amused  himself  with  writing  nstes  on 
Athenajus,  and  was  a  lively  critic  on  the  theatres;  but  half 
the  jokes  in  his  magazine  were  written  for  his  friends,  and 
must  have  mystified  the  uninitiated.  Plis  notices  to  corre- 
spondents were  often  made  up  of  this  by-play ;  and  made  his 
friends  laugh,  in  proportion  to  their  obscurity  to  every  one 
else.  Mr.  Du  Bois  subsequently  became  a  magistrate  in  the 
Court  of  Hequests  ;  and  died  the  other  day  at  an  advanced 
age,  in  spite  of  his  love  of  port.  But  then  he  was  festive  in 
good  taste ;  no  gourmand ;  and  had  a  strong  head  withal.  I 
do  not  know  whether  such  men  ever  last  as  long  as  teetotal- 
ers ;  but  they  certainly  last  as  long  and  look  a  great  deal 
younger,  than  the  carking  and  severe. 

They  who  knew  Mr.  Campbell  only  as  the  author  of 
Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  and  the  Pleasure?,  of  Hope,  would 
not  have  suspected  him  to  be  a  merry  companion,  overflow- 
ing with  humor  and  anecdote,  and  any  thing  but  fastidious. 
These  Scotch  poets  have  always  something  in  reserve.  It 
is  the  only  point  in  which  the  major  part  of  them  resemble 
their  countrymen.  The  mistaken  character  which  the  lady 
formed  of  Thomson  from  his  Seasotis  is  well  known.  He 
let  part  of  the  secret  out  in  his  Castle  of  hidolcnce  ;  and 
the  more  he  let  out,  the  more  honor  it  did  to  the  simplicity 
and  cordiality  of  the  poet's  nature,  though  not  always  to  the 
elegance  of  it.  Allan  Ramsay  knew  his  friends  Gay  and 
Somerville  as  well  in  their  writings,  as  he  did  when  he  came 
to  be  personally  acquainted  with  them ;  but  Allan,  who  had 
bustled  up  from  a  barber's  shop  into  a  bookseller's  was  "  a 
cunning  shaver  ;"  and  nobody  M^ould  have  guessed  the  author 
of  the  Gentle  Shej)herd  to  be  penurious.  Let  none  suppose 
that  any  insinuation  to  that  effect  is  intended  against  Camp- 
bell. He  was  one  of  the  few  men  whom  I  could  at  any 
time  have  walked  half  a  dozen  miles  through  the  snow  to 
spend  an  evening  with  ;  and  I  could  no  more  do  this  with  a 
penurious  man  than  I  could  with  a  sulky  one.  I  know  but 
of  one  fault  he  had,  besides  an  extreme  cautiousness  in  his 


CAMPBELL  213 

writings,  and  that  one  was  national,  a  matter  of  words,  and 
amply  overpaid  by  a  stream  of  conversation,  lively,  piquant, 
and  liberal,  not  the  less  interesting^  for  occasionally  betraying 
an  intimacy  with  pain,  and  for  a  high  and  somewhat  strain- 
ed tone  of  voice,  like  a  man  speaking  with  suspended  breath, 
and  in  the  habit  of  subduing  his  feelings.  No  man  felt  more 
kindly  toward  his  fellow-creatures,  or  took  less  credit  for  it. 
When  he  indulged  in  doubt  and  sarcasm,  and  spoke  contempt- 
uously of  things  in  general,  he  did  it,  partly,  no  doubt,  out 
of  actual  dissatisfaction,  but  more  perhaps  than  he  suspected, 
out  of  a  fear  of  being  thought  weak  and  sensitive  ;  which  is 
a  blind  that  the  best  men  very  commonly  practice.  He  pro- 
iessed  to  be  hopeless  and  sarcastic,  and  took  paius  all  the 
while  to  set  up  a  university  (the  London). 

When  I  first  saw  this  eminent  person,  he  gave  me  the 
idea  of  a  French  Virgil.  Not  that  he  was  like  a  French- 
man, much  less  the  French  translator  of  Virgil.  I  found 
him  as  handsome,  as  the  Abbe  Delille  is  said  to  have  been 
ugly.  But  he  seemed  to  me  to  embody  a  Frenchman's  ideal 
notion  of  the  Latin  poet ;  something  a  little  more  cut  and 
dry  than  I  had  looked  for  ;  compact  and  elegant,  critical  and 
acute,  with  a  consciousness  of  authorship  upon  him  ;  a  taste 
over-anxious  not  to  commit  itself  and  refining  and  diminish- 
ing nature  as  in  a  drawing-room  mirror.  This  fancy  was 
strengthened  in  the  course  of  conversation,  by  his  expatiating 
on  the  greatness  of  Racine.  I  think  he  had  a  volume  of 
the  French  poet  in  his  hand.  His  skull  was  sharply  cut 
and  fine  ;  with  plenty,  according  to  the  phrenologists,  both 
of  the  reflective  and  amative  organs  :  and  his  poetry  will 
bear  them  out.  For  a  lettered  solitude,  and  a  bridal  pro- 
perly got  up,  both  according  to  law  and  luxury,  commend 
us  to  the  lovely  Gertrude  of  Wyoming.  His  face  and  per- 
son were  rather  on  a  small  scale  ;  his  features  regular  ;  his 
eye  lively  and  penetrating  ;  and  when  he  spoke,  dimples 
played  about  his  mouth  ;  which,  nevertheless,  had  something 
restrained  and  close  in  it.  Some  gentle  puritan  seemed  to 
have  crossed  the  breed,  and  to  have  left  a  stamp  on  his  face, 
such  as  we  often  see  in  the  female  Scotch  face,  rather  than 
the  male.      But  he   appeared  not  at  all  grateful  for  this  ; 


214  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ami  when  liis  critiques  and  his  Virgilianism  were  over,  very 
unUke  a  puritan  ho  talked  !  He  seemed  to  spite  his  restric- 
tions ;  and  out  of  the  natural  largeness  of  his  sympathy  with 
things  high  and  low,  to  break  at  once  out  of  DeliUe's  Virgil 
into  Cotton's,  like  a  boy  let  loose  from  school.  When  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  him  afterward,  I  forgot  his  Virgil- 
ianisms,  and  thought  only  of  the  delightful  companion,  the 
unalFected  philanthropist,  and  the  creator  of  a  beauty  worth 
all  the  heroines  in  Racine. 

Campbell  tasted  pretty  sharply  of  the  good  and  ill  of  the 
present  state  of  society,  and,  lor  a  bookman,  had  beheld 
strange  sights.  He  witnessed  a  battle  in  Germany  from  the 
top  of  a  convent  (on  which  battle  he  has  left  us  a  noble  ode) ; 
and  he  saw  the  French  cavalry  enter  a  town,  wiping  their 
bloody  swords  on  the  horses'  manes.  He  was  in  Germany 
a  second  time,  I  believe  to  purchase  books ;  for  in  addition 
to  his  classical  scholarship,  and  his  other  languages,  he  was 
a  reader  of  German.  The  readers  there,  among  whom  he  is 
popular,  both  for  his  poetry  and  his  love  of  freedom,  crowded 
about  him  with  affectionate  zeal ;  and  they  gave  him,  what 
he  did  not  dislike,  a  good  dinner.  Like  many  of  the  great 
men  in  Germany,  Schiller,  Wieland,  and  others,  he  did  not 
.scruple  to  become  editor  of  a  magazine  ;  and  his  name  alone 
gave  it  a  recommendation  of  the  greatest  value,  and  such  as 
made  it  a  grace  to  write  under  him. 

I  remember,  one  day  at  Sydenham,  Mr.  Theodore  Hook 
coming  in  unexpectedly  to  dinner,  and  amusing  us  very 
much  with  his  talent  at  extempore  verse.  He  was  then  a 
youth,  tall,  dark,  and  of  a  good  person,  with  small  eyes,  and 
features  more  round  than  weak ;  a  face  that  had  character 
and  humor,  but  no  refinement.  His  extempore  verses  were 
really  surprising.  It  is  easy  enough  to  extemporize  in  Italian 
— one  only  wonders  how,  in  a  language  in  which  every  thing 
conspires  to  render  verse-making  easy,  and  it  is  difficult  to  avoid 
rhyming,  this  talent  should  be  so  much  cried  up — but  in  En- 
glish it  is  another  matter.  I  have  known  but  one  other  per- 
son besides  Hook,  who  could  extemporize  in  English  ;  and  he 
wanted  the  confidence  to  do  it  in  public.  Of  course,  1  speak 
of  rhyming.      Extempore  blank  verse,  with  a  little  practice, 


THEODORE  HOOK.  215 

would  be  found  as  easy  in  English  as  rhyming  is  in  Italian. 
In  Hook  the  faculty  was  very  unequivocal.  He  could  not 
have  been  aware  of  all  the  visitors,  still  less  of  the  subject 
of  conversation  when  he  came  in,  and  he  talked  his  full  share 
till  called  upon  ;  yet  he  ran  his  jokes  and  his  verses  upon  us 
all  in  the  easiest  manner,  saying  something  characteristic  of 
every  body,  or  avoiding  it  with  a  pun ;  and  he  introduced  so 
agreeably  a  piece  of  village  scandal  upon  which  the  party 
had  been  rallying  Campbell,  that  the  poet,  though  not  un- 
jealous  of  his  dignity,  was,  perhaps,  the  most  pleased  of  us 
all.  Theodore  afterward  sat  down  to  the  piano-forte,  and 
enlarging  upon  this  subject,  made  an  extempore  parody  of  a 
modern  opera,  introducing  sailors  and  their  clap-traps,  rus- 
tics, &c.,  and  making  the  poet  and  his  supposed  flame,  the 
hero  and  heroine.  He  parodied  music  as  Avell  as  words, 
giving  us  the  most  received  cadences  and  flourishes,  and  call- 
ing to  mind  (not  without  some  hazard  to  his  filial  duties) 
the  commonplaces  of  the  pastoral  songs  and  duets  of  the  last 
half  century  ;  so  that  if  Mr.  Dignum,  the  Damon  of  Vaux- 
hall,  had  been  present,  he  would  have  doubted  whether  to 
take  it  as  an  affront  or  a  compliment.  Campbell  certainly 
took  the  theme  of  the  parody  as  a  compliment ;  for  having 
drunk  a  little  more  wine  than  usual  that  evening,  and  hap- 
pening to  wear  a  wig  on  account  of  having  lost  his  hair  by  a. 
fever,  he  suddenly  took  off"  the  wig,  and  dashed  it  at  the 
head  of  the  performer,  exclaiming,  "You  dog  I  I'll  throw  my 
laurels  at  you." 

I  have  since  been  unable  to  help  wishing,  perhaps  not 
very  wisely,  that  Campbell  would  have  been  a  little  less  care- 
ful and  fastidious  in  what  he  did  for  the  public  ;  for,  after 
all,  an  author  may  reasonably  be  supposed  to  do  best  that 
which  he  is  most  inclined  to  do.  It  is  our  business  to  be 
grateful  for  wliat  a  poet  sets  before  us,  rather  than  to  bo 
wishing  that  his  peaches  were  nectarines,  or  his  Falernian 
Champagne.  Campbell,  as  an  author,  was  all  for  refinement 
and  classicality,  not,  however,  without  a  great  deal  of  pathos 
and  luxurious  fancy.  His  mcxxy jonglcitr,  Theodore  Ilook,  had 
as  little  propensity,  perhaps,  as  can  be  imagined,  to  any  of  those 
ni(^eties  :  yet  in  the  pleasure  of  recollecting  the  evening  which 


216  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

I  passed  with  him,  I  was  unable  to  repress  a  wish,  as  little 
wise  as  the  other  ;  to-wit,  that  he  had  stuck  to  his  humors 
and  farces,  for  which  he  had  real  talent,  instead  of  writing 
politics.  There  was  ability  in  the  novels  which  he  subse- 
quently wrote  ;  but  their  worship  of  high  life  and  attacks  on 
vulgarity,  were  themselves  of  the  vulgarest  description. 

Mathews,  the  comedian,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  at 
Mr.  Hill's  several  times,  and  of  witnessing  his  imitations, 
which,  admirable  as  they  were  on  the  stage,  were  still  more 
so  in  private.  His  wife  occasionally  came  with  him,  with 
her  handsome  eyes,  and  charitably  made  tea  for  us.  Many 
years  afterward  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  at  their 
own  table  ;  and  I  thought  that  while  Time,  with  unusual 
courtesy,  had  spared  the  sweet  countenance  of  the  lady,  he 
had  given  more  force  and  interest  to  that  of  the  husband  in 
the  very  ploughing  of  it  up.  Strong  lines  had  been  cut,  and 
the  face  stood  them  well.  I  had  seldom  been  more  sur- 
prised than  on  coming  close  to  Mathews  on  that  occasion, 
and  seeing  the  bust  which  he  possessed  in  his  gallery  of  his 
friend  Listen.  Some  of  these  comic  actors,  like  comic 
writers,  are  as  unfarcical  as  can  be  imagined  in  their  interior. 
The  taste  for  humor  comes  to  them  by  the  force  of  contrast. 
The  last  time  I  had  seen  Mathews,  his  face  appeared  to  me 
insignificant  to  what  it  was  then.  On  the  former  occasion, 
he  looked  like  an  irritable,  in-door  pet :  on  the  latter,  he 
seemed  to  have  been  grappling  with  the  world,  and  to  have 
got  vigor  by  it.  His  face  had  looked  out  upon  the  Atlantic, 
and  said  to  the  old  waves,  "  Buffet  on  ;  I  have  seen  trouble 
as  well  as  you."  The  paralytic  affection,  or  whatever  it 
was,  that  twisted  his  mouth  when  young,  had  formerly 
appeared  to  be  master  of  his  face,  and  given  it  a  character 
of  indecision  and  alarm.  It  now  seemed  a  minor  thing ;  a 
twist  in  a  piece  of  old  oak.  And  what  a  bust  was  Liston's  I 
The  mouth  and  chin,  with  the  throat  under  it,  hung  like  an 
old  bag ;  but  the  upper  part  of  the  head  was  as  fine  as 
possible.  There  was  a  speculation,  a  look-out,  and  even  an 
elevation  of  character  in  it,  as  unlike  the  Liston  on  the  stage, 
as  Lear  is  to  King  Pippin.  One  might  imagine  Laberiua 
to  have  had  such  a  face. 


MATHEWS.  217 

The  reasons  why  Mathews's  imitations  were  still  better 
in  private  than  in  public  were,  that  he  was  more  at  his  ease 
personally,  more  secure  of  his  audience  ("  fit  though  few"), 
and  able  to  interest  them  with  traits  of  private  character, 
which  could  not  have  been  introduced  on  the  stage.  He 
gave,  for  instance,  to  persons  who  he  thought  could  take  it 
rightly,  a  picture  of  the  manners  and  conversation  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  highly  creditable  to  that  celebrated  person, 
and  calculated  to  add  regard  to  admiration.  His  commonest 
imitations  were  not  superficial.  Something  of  the  mind  and 
character  of  the  individual  was  always  insinuated,  often 
with  a  dramatic  dressing,  and  plenty  of  sauce  piquante.  At 
Sydenham  he  used  to  give  us  a  dialogue  among  the  actors, 
each  of  whom  found  fault  with  another  for  some  defect  or 
excess  of  his  own.  Kemble  objecting  to  stiffiiess,  Munden 
to  grimace,  and  so  on.  His  representation  of  Incledon  was 
extraordinary  :  his  nose  seemed  actually  to  become  aquiline. 
It  is  a  pity  I  can  not  put  upon  paper,  as  represented  by  Mr. 
Mathews,  the  singular  gabblings  of  that  actor,  the  lax  and 
sailor-like  twist  of  mind,  with  which  every  thing  hung  upon 
him  ;  and  his  profane  pieties  in  quoting  the  Bible ;  for 
which,  and  swearing,  he  seemed  to  have  an  equal  reverence. 
He  appeared  to  be  charitable  to  every  body  but  Braham. 
He  would  be  described  as  saying  to  his  friend  Holman,  for 
instance,  "  My  dear  George,  don't  be  abusive,  George  ;  don't 
insult — don't  be  indecent,  by  G — d  I  You  should  take  the 
beam  out  of  your  own  eye — what  the  devil  is  it  ?  you  know, 
in  the  Bible  ;  something"  (the  a  very  broad)  "  about  a  beam, 
my  dear  George  I  and — and — and  a  mote  ;  you'll  find  it  in 
a7iij  part  of  the  Bible  ;  yes,  George,  my  dear  boy,  the  Bible, 
by  G — d  ;"  (and  then  with  real  fervor  and  reverence)  "the 
Holy  Scripture,  G — d  d — me  I"  He  swore  as  dreadfully 
as  a  devout  knight-errant.  Braham,  whose  trumpet  blew 
down  his  wooden  walls,  he  could  not  endure.  He  is  represent- 
ed as  saying  one  day,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  imagination 
and  matter-of-fact,  that  "  he  only  wished  his  beloved  master, 
Mr.  Jackson,  could  come  down  from  heaven,  and  take  the 
Exeter  stage  to  London,  to  hear  that  d — d  Jew  I" 

As  Hook  made  extempore  verses  on  us,  so  Mathews  on« 
VOL    I  — K 


218  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

day  gave  an  extempore  imitation  of  us  all  round,  with  the 
exception  of  a  young  theatrical  critic  (^videlicet,  myself),  in 
whose  appearance  and  manner  he  pronounced  that  there  was 
no  handle  for  mimicry.  This,  in  all  probability,  was  in- 
tended as  a  politeness  toward  a  comparative  stranger,  but  it 
might  have  been  policy  ;  and  the  laughter  Avas  not  missed 
by  it.  At  all  events,  the  critic  was  both  good-humored 
enough,  and  at  that  time  self-satisfied  enough,  to  have  borne 
the  mimicry  ;   and  no  harm  would  have  come  of  it. 

One  morning,  after  stopping  all  night  at  this  pleasant 
house,  I  was  getting  up  to  breakfast,  when  I  heard  the  noise 
of  a  little  boy  having  his  face  washed.  Our  host  Avas  a 
merry  bachelor,  and  to  the  rosiness  of  a  priest  might,  for 
aught  I  knew,  have  added  the  paternity  ;  but  I  had  never 
heard  of  it,  and  still  less  expected  to  find  a  child  in  his 
house.  More  obvious  and  obstreperous  proofs,  however,  of 
the  existence  of  a  boy  with  a  dirty  face,  could  not  have  been 
met  with.  You  heard  the  child  crying  and  objecting  ;  then 
the  woman  remonstrating ;  then  the  cries  of  the  child 
snubbed  and  swallowed  up  in  the  hard  towel ;  and  at  inter- 
vals out  came  his  voice  bubbling  and  deploring,  and  was 
again  swallowed  up.  At  breakfast,  the  child  being  pitied, 
I  ventured  to  .speak  about  it,  and  was  laughing  and  sympa- 
thizing in  perfect  good  faith,  when  Mathews  came  in,  and  1 
found  that  the  little  urchin  was  he. 

The  same  morning  he  gave  us  his  immortal  imitation  of 
old  Tate  Wilkinson,  patentee  of  the  York  Theatre.  Tate 
had  been  a  little  too  merry  in  his  youth,  and  was  very 
melancholy  in  old  age.  He  had  a  wandering  mind  and  a 
decrepit  body  ;  and  being  manager  of  a  theatre,  a  husband, 
and  a  ratcatcher,  he  would  speak,  in  his  wanderings,  "  vari 
ety  of  wretchedness."  He  would  interweave,  for  instance 
all  at  once,  the  subjects  of  a  new  engagement  at  his  theatre, 
the  rats,  a  veal-pie,  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  Mrs 
Tate  and  the  doctor.  I  do  not  pretend  to  give  a  specimen  : 
Mathews  alone  could  have  done  it ;  but  one  trait  I  recollect, 
descriptive  of  Tate  himself,  which  will  give  a  good  notion 
of  him.  On  coming  into  the  room,  Mathews  assumed  the 
old  manager's  appearance,  and  proceeded  toward  the  window, 


JAMES  AND  HORACE  SMITH.  219 

to  reconnoitre  the  state  of  the  weather,  which  was  a  matter 
of  great  importance  to  him.  His  hat  was  hke  a  hat  worn 
the  wrong  way,  side  foremost,  looking  sadly  crinkled  and  old  ; 
his  mouth  was  desponding,  his  eye  staring,  and  his  whole 
aspect  meagre,  querulous,  and  prepared  for  objection.  This 
miserable  object,  grunting  and  hobbling,  and  helping  him- 
self with  every  thing  he  can  lay  hold  of  as  he  goes,  creeps 
up  to  the  window ;  and,  giving  a  glance  at  the  clouds, 
turns  round  with  an  ineffable  look  of  despair  and  ac- 
quiescence, ejaculating  "  Uh,  Christ  I" 

Of  James  Smith,  a  fair,  stout,  fresh-colored  man  with 
round  features,  I  recollect  little,  except  that  he  used  to  read 
to  us  trim  verses,  with  rhymes  as  pat  as  butter.  The  best 
of  his  verses  are  in  the  Rejected  Addresses ;  and  they  are 
excellent.  Isaac  Hawkins  Browne  with  his  Pipe  of  To- 
bacco, and  all  the  rhyming  jeiiz-d' esprit  in  all  the  Tracts, 
are  extinguished  in  the  comparison  ;  not  excepting  the 
Probationary  Odes.  Mr.  Fitzgerald  found  himself  bank- 
rupt in  non  sequiturs ;  Crabbe  could  hardly  have  known 
which  was  which,  himself  or  his  parodist ;  and  Lord  Byron 
confessed  to  me,  that  the  summing  up  of  his  philosophy,  to- 
wit,  that 

"Naught  is  every  thing,  and  every  thing  is  naught," 

was  very  posing.  Mr.  Smith  would  sometimes  repeat  after 
dinner,  with  his  brother  Horace,  an  imaginary  dialogue, 
stuffed  full  of  incongruities,  that  made  us  roll  with  laughter. 
His  ordinary  verse  and  prose  were  too  full  of  the  ridicule  of 
city  pretensions.  To  be  superior  to  any  thing,  it  should  not 
always  be  running  in  one's  head. 

His  brother  Horace  was  delicious.  Lord  Byron  used  to 
say;  that  this  epithet  should  be  applied  only  to  eatables  ; 
and  that  he  wondered  a  friend  of  his  (I  forget  who)  that  was 
critical  in  matters  of  eating,  should  use  it  in  any  other  sense. 
I  know  not  what  the  present  usage  may  be  in  the  circles, 
but  classical  authority  is  against  his  Icrdship,  from  Cicero 
downward  ;  and  I  am  content  with  the  modern  warrant  of 
another  noble  wit,  the  famous  Lord  Peterborough,  who,  in 
his  fine,  open  way,  said  of  Fenelon,  that  he  was  such  a 


220  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

"  delicious  creature,  he  was  forced  to  get  away  from  him, 
else  he  would  have  made  him  pious  I"  I  grant  there  is 
something  in  the  word  delicious  which  may  be  said  to  com- 
prise a  reference  to  every  species  of  pleasant  taste.  It  is  at 
once  a  quintessence  and  a  compound  ;  and  a  friend,  to  deserve 
the  epithet,  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  capable  of  delighting  us 
as  much  over  our  wine,  as  on  graver  occasions.  Fenelon 
himself  could  do  this,  with  all  his  piety  ;  or  rather  he  could 
do  it  because  his  piety  was  of  the  true  sort,  and  rehshed  of 
every  thing  that  was  sAveet  and  alTectionate.  A  finer  nature 
than  Horace  Smith's,  except  in  the  single  instance  of  Shelley, 
I  never  met  with  in  man  ;  nor  even  in  that  instance,  all 
circumstances  considered,  have  I  a  right  to  say  that  those 
who  knew  him  as  intimately  as  I  did  the  other,  would  not 
have  had  the  same  reasons  to  love  him.  Shelley  himself  had 
the  highest  regard  for  Horace  Smith,  as  may  be  seen  by  the 
following  verses,  the  initials  in  which  the  reader  has  here 
the  pleasure  of  filling  up  : 

"  Wit  and  sense, 
Virtue  and  human  knowledge,  all  that  might 
Make  this  dull  world  a  business  of  delight, 
Are  all  combined  in  H.  S." 

Horace  Smith  diflered  with  Shelley  on  some  points  ;  but 
on  others,  which  all  the  world  agree  to  praise  highly  and 
to  practice  very  little,  he  agreed  so  entirely,  and  showed 
unequivocally  that  he  did  agree,  that  with  the  exception  of 
one  person  (Vincent  Novello),  too  diffident  to  gain  such  an 
honor  from  his  friends,  they  were  the  only  two  men  I  had 
then  met  with,  from  whom  I  could  have  received  and  did 
receive  advice  or  remonstrance  with  perfect  comfort,  because 
I  could  be  sure  of  the  unmixed  motives  and  entire  absence 
of  self-reflection,  with  which  it  would  come  from  them.* 
Shelley  said  to  me  once,  "  I  know  not  what  Horace  Smith 
must  take  me  for  sometimes  :  I  am  afraid  he  must  think 
me  a  strange  fellow  :   but  is  it  not  odd,  that  the  only  truly 

*  Notwithstanding  his  caprices  of  temper,  I  must  add  Hazlitt,  who 
was  quite  capable,  when  he  chose,  of  giving  genuine  advice,  and 
making  you  sensible  of  his  disinterestedness.  Lamb  could  have  done 
it,  too"  but  for  interference  of  any  sort  ho  had  an  abhorrence. 


HORACE  SMITH.  221 

generous  person  I  ever  knew,  who  had  money  to  be  gener- 
ous with,  should  be  a  stockbroker  !  And  he  writes  poetrj' 
too,"  continued  Shelley,  his  voice  rising  in  a  fervor  of  aston- 
ishment ;  "he  writes  poetry  and  pastoral  dramas,  and  yet 
knows  how  to  make  money,  and  does  make  it,  and  is  still 
generous  I"  Shelley  had  reason  to  like  him.  Horace  Smith 
was  one  of  the  few  men,  who,  through  a  cloud  of  detraction, 
and  through  all  that  difference  of  conduct  from  the  rest  of 
the  world,  which  naturally  excites  obloquy,  discerned  the 
greatness  of  my  friend's  character.  Indeed  he  became  a  wit- 
ness to  a  very  unequivocal  proof  of  it,  which  I  shall  mention 
by-and-by.  The  mutual  esteem  was  accordingly  very  great, 
and  arose  from  circumstances  most  honorable  to  both  parties. 
"  I  believe,"  said  Shelley,  on  another  occasion,  "  that  I  have 
only  to  say  to  Horace  Smith  that  I  want  a  hundred  pounds 
or  two,  and  he  would  send  it  me  without  any  eye  to  its 
being  returned  ;  such  faith  has  he  that  I  have  something 
within  me  beyond  what  the  world  supposes,  and  that  I 
could  only  ask  his  money  for  a  good  purpose."  And  Shelley 
would  have  sent  for  it  accordingly,  if  the  person  for  whom 
it  was  intended  had  not  said  Nay.  I  will  now  mention  the 
circumstance  which  first  gave  my  friend  a  regard  for  Horace 
Smith.  It  concerns  the  person  just  mentioned,  who  is  a  man 
of  letters.  It  came  to  Mr.  Smith's  knowledge,  many  years 
ago,  that  this  person  was  suffering  under  a  pecuniary  trouble. 
He  knew  little  of  him  at  the  time,  but  had  met  him  occa- 
sionally ;  and  he  availed  liimself  of  this  circumstance  to 
write  him  a  letter  as  full  of  delicacy  and  cordiality  as  it 
could  hold,  making  it  a  matter  of  grace  to  accept  »  bank- 
note of  £l  00  which  he  inclosed.  I  speak  on  the  best  author- 
ity, that  of  the  obhged  person  himself;  who  adds  that  he  not 
only  did  accept  the  money,  but  felt  as  light  and  happy  under 
the  obligation,  as  he  has  felt  miserable  under  the  very  report 
of  being  obliged  to  some  ;  and  he  says,  that  nothing  could 
induce  him  to  withhold  his  name,  but  a  reason,  which  the 
generous,  during  his  life-time,  would  think  becoming. 

I  have  said  that  Horace  Smith  was  a  stockbroker.  He 
left  business  with  a  fortune  and  went  to  live  in  France, 
where,  if  he  did  not  increase,  he  did  not  seriously  diminish 


222  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

it;  and  France  added  to  the  pleasant  stock  of  his  knowl- 
edge. 

On  returnuig-  to  England,  he  set  about  exerting  him- 
self in  a  manner  equally  creditable  to  his  talents  and  in- 
teresting to  the  public.  I  would  not  insult  either  the 
modesty  or  the  understanding  of  my  friend  while  he  was 
alive,  by  comparing  him  with  the  author  of  Old  Mortality 
and  Guij  Maiineriiig :  but  I  ventured  to  say,  and  I  repeat, 
that  the  earliest  of  his  novels,  Brambletye  House,  ran  a  hard 
race  with  the  novel  of  Woodstock,  and  that  it  contained  more 
than  one  character  not  unworthy  of  the  best  volumes  of  Sir 
Walter.  I  allude  to  the  ghastly  troubles  of  the  Regicide  in 
his  lone  house  ;  the  outward  phlegm  and  meny  inward  mal- 
ice of  Winkey  Boss  (a  happy  name),  who  gravely  smoked  a 
pipe  with  his  mouth,  and  laughed  with  his  eyes;  and,  above 
all,  to  the  character  of  the  princely  Dutch  merchant,  who 
would  cry  out  that  he  should  be  ruined,  at  seeing  a  few 
nutmegs  dropped  from  a  bag,  and  then  go  and  give  a  thou- 
sand ducats  for  an  antique.  This  is  hitting  the  high 
mercantile  character  to  a  nicety,  minute  and  careful  ni  its 
means,  princely  in  its  ends.  If  the  ultimate  eflect  of  com- 
merce l^permidti  transihunt,  &c.)  were  not  something  very 
different  from  what  its  pursuers  imagine,  the  character 
would  be  a  dangerous  one  to  society  at  large,  because  it 
throws  a  gloss  over  the  spirit  of  money-getting  ;  but,  mean- 
while, nobody  could  paint  it  better,  or  has  a  greater  right  to 
recommend  it,  than  he  who  has  been  the  first  to  make  it  a 
handsome  portrait. 

The  personal  appearance  of  Horace  Smith,  like  that  of 
most  of  the  individuals  I  have  met  with,  was  highly  indica- 
tive of  his  character.  His  figure  was  good  and  manly,  in- 
clining to  the  robust ;  and  his  countenance  extremely  frank 
and  cordial;  sweet  Avithout  weakness.  I  have  been  told  he 
was  irascible.  If  so,  it  must  have  been  no  common  oflcnse 
that  could  have  irritated  him.  He  had  not  a  jot  of  it  in  his 
appearance. 

Another  set  of  acquaintances  which  I  made  at  this  time 
used  to  assemble  at  the  hospitable  table  of  Mr.  Hunter  the 
bookseller,  in  St.  Paul's  Church-yard.      They  were  the  sur- 


FUSELI.  223 

vivors  of  the  literary  party  that  were  accustomed  to  dine 
with  his  predecessor,  Mr.  Johnson.  They  came,  as  of  old, 
on  the  Friday.  The  most  regular  were  Fuseli  and  Bonny- 
castle.  Now  and  then,  Godwin  was  present :  oftener  Mr. 
Kinnaird  the  magistrate,  a  great  lover  of  Horace. 

Fuseli  was  a  small  man,  with  energetic  features,  and  a 
white  head  of  hair.  Our  host's  daughter,  then  a  little  girl, 
used  to  call  him  the  white-headed  lion.  He  combed  his 
hair  up  from  the  forehead  ;  and  as  hi§  whiskers  were  large, 
his  face  was  set  in  a  kind  of  hairy  frame,  which,  in  addition 
to  the  fierceness  of  his  look,  really  gave  him  an  aspect  of  that 
sort.  Otherwise,  his  features  were  rather  sharp  than  round. 
He  would  have  looked  much  like  an  old  military  officer, 
if  his  face,  besides  its  real  energy,  had  not  affected  more. 
There  was  the  same  defect  in  it  as  in  his  pictures.  Con- 
scious of  not  having  all  the  strength  he  wished,  he  endeavor- 
ed to  make  out  for  it  by  violence  and  pretension.  He  carried 
this  so  far,  as  to  look  fiercer  than  usual  when  he  sat  for  his 
picture.  His  friend  and  engraver,  Mr.  Houghton,  drew  an 
admirable  likeness  of  him  in  this  state  of  dianified  extrava- 
gance. He  is  sitting  back  in  his  chair,  leaning  on  his  hand, 
but  looking  ready  to  pounce  withal.  His  notion  of  repose 
was  like  that  of  Pistol : 

"Now,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap." 

Agreeably  to  this  over-wrought  manner,  he  was  reckoned,  I 
believe,  not  quite  so  bold  as  he  might  have  been.  He  paint- 
ed horrible  pictures,  as  children  tell  horrible  stories ;  and  was 
frightened  at  his  own  lay  figures.  Yet  he  Avould  hardly 
have  talked  as  he  did  about  his  terrors,  had  he  been  as  timid 
as  some  supposed  him.  With  the  affected,  impression  is  the 
main  thing,  let  it  be  produced  how  it  may.  A  student  of 
the  Academy  told  me,  that  Mr.  Fuseli  coming  in  one  night, 
when  a  solitary  candle  had  been  put  on  the  floor  in  a  corner 
of  the  room,  to  produce  some  effect  or  other,  he  said  it  look- 
ed "  like  a  damned  soul."  This  was  by  way  of  being  Dan- 
tesque,  as  Michael  Angelo  was.  Fuseli  was  an  ingenious 
caricaturist  of  that  master,  making  great  bodily  displays  of 
mental  energy,  and  being  ostentatious  with  his  limbs  and 


224  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

muscles,  iu  proportion  as  he  could  not  draw  them.  A  leg 
or  an  arm  was  to  be  thrust  down  one's  throat,  because  he 
knew  we  should  dispute  the  truth  of  it.  In  the  indulgence 
of  this  willfulness  of  purpose,  generated  partly  by  impatience 
of  study,  partly  by  want  of  sufficient  genius,  and  no  doubt, 
also,  by  a  sense  of  superiority  to  artists  who  could  do  nothing 
but  draw  correctly,  he  cared  for  no  time,  place,  or  circum- 
stance, in  his  pictures.  A  set  of  prints,  after  his  designs  for 
Shakspeare  and  Cowper,  exhibit  a  chaos  of  mingled  genius 
and  absurdity,  such  as,  perhaps,  was  never  before  seen.  He 
endeavored  to  bring  Michael  Angelo's  apostles  and  prophets, 
with  their  super-human  pondcrousness  of  intention,  into  the 
commonplaces  of  modern  life.  A  student  reading  in  a  gar- 
den is  all  over  intensity  of  muscle ;  and  the  quiet  tea-table 
scene  in  Cowper,  he  has  turned  into  a  preposterous  conspiracy 
of  huge  men  and  women,  all  bent  upon  showing  their  thews 
and  postures,  with  dresses  as  fantastical  as  their  minds.  One 
gentleman,  of  the  existence  of  whose  trowsers  you  are  not 
aware  till  you  see  the  terminating  line  at  the  ankle,  is  sitting 
and  looking  grim  on  a  sofa,  with  his  hat  on  and  no  w^aist- 
coat.  Yet  there  is  real  genius  in  his  designs  for  Milton, 
though  disturbed,  as  usual,  by  strainings  after  the  energetic. 
His  most  extraordinary  mistake,  after  all,  is  said  to  have  been 
on  the  subject  of  his  coloring.  It  was  a  sort  of  livid  green, 
like  brass  diseased.  Yet  they  say,  that  when  praised  for 
one  of  his  pictures,  he  would  modestly  observe,  "It  is  a 
pretty  color."  This  might  have  been  thought  a  jest  on  his 
part,  if  remarkable  stories  were  not  told  of  the  mistakes  made 
by  other  people  with  regard  to  color.  Sight  seems  the  least 
agreed  upon,  of  all  the  senses. 

Fuseli  was  lively  and  interesting  in  conversation,  but  not 
without  his  usual  faults  of  violence  and  pretension.  Nor 
was  he  always  as  decorous  as  an  old  man  ought  to  be  ; 
especially  one  whose  turn  of  mind  is  not  of  the  lighter  and 
and  more  pleasurable  cast.  The  licenses  he  took  were 
coarse,  and  had  not  sufficient  regard  to  his  company.  Cer- 
tainly they  went  a  great  deal  beyond  his  friend  Armstrong  ; 
to  whose  account  I  believe,  Fuseli's  passion  for  swearing  was 
laid.     The  poet  condescended  to  be  a  great  swearer,  and 


FUSELI.— BONNYCASTLE.  225 

JFuseli  thought  it  energetic  to  swear  like  him.  His  friend- 
ship with  Bonnycastle  had  something  childlike  and  agreeable 
in  it.  They  came  and  went  away  together  like  a  couple  of 
old  schoolboys.  They,  also,  like  boys,  rallied  one  another, 
and  sometimes  made  a  singular  display  of  it — Fuseli,  at 
least,  for  it  was  he  that  was  the  aggressor.  I  remember, 
one  day,  Bonnycastle  told  a  story  of  a  Frenchman,  whom 
he  had  received  at  his  house  at  Woolwich,  and  who  invited 
him,  in  return,  to  visit  him  in  Paris,  if  ever  he  should  cross 
the  water.  "  The  Frenchman  told  me,"  said  he,  "  that  he 
had  a  superb  local.  When  I  went  to  Paris  I  called  on  him, 
and  found  he  had  a  good  prospect  out  of  his  window;  but 
his  uiperh  local  was  at  a  hair-dresser's,  up  two  pair  of  stairs." 

"  Veil,  veil  I"  said  Fuseli,  impatiently  (for  though  he  spoke 
and  wrote  English  remarkably  well,  he  never  got  rid  of  his 
Swiss  pronunciation),  "  Veil — vay  not  ?  vay  not  ?  Vat  is 
to  hinder  his  local  being  superb  for  all  thtat  V 

"I  don't  see,"  returned  Bonnycastle,  "how  a  barber's 
house  in  an  alley  can  be  a  superb  local." 

"  You  doan't  I  Veil — but  thtat  is  not  the  barber's  fault, 
it  is  yours." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out  ?      I'm  not  an  alley." 

"  No  ;  but  you're  so  coarsedly  eegnorant." 

"I  may  be  as  ignorant  as  you  are  polite  ;  but  you  don't 
prove  any  thing." 

"  Thte  thtovil  I  doan't  I  Did  you  not  say  he  had  a  faine 
prospect  out  of  window  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  had  a  prospect  fine  enough  I" 

"  Veil,  thtat  constituted  his  superb  local.  A  superb  local 
is  not  a  barber's  shop,  by  Goadc  !  but  a  faine  situation.  But 
thtat  is  your  coarsed  ecgnorance  of  thte  language." 

Another  time,  on  Bonnycastle's  saymg  that  there  were 
no  longer  any  auto-da-fes,  Fuseli  said  he  did  not  know  that. 
"At  all  events,"  said  he,  ii  you  were  to  go  into  Spain,  they 
would  have  an  auto-da-fe  immediately  on  the  strength  of 
your  appearance. 

Bonnycastle  was  a  good  fellow,  he  was  a  tall,  gaunt, 
long-headed  man,  with  large  features  and  spectacles,  and  a 
deep  internal  voice,  with  a  twang  of  rusticity  in  it ;  and  he 

K* 


226  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

gopglccl  over  his  plate,  like  a  horse.  I  often  thought  that 
a  bag  of  corn  would  have  hung  well*  on  him.  His  laugh 
was  equine,  and  showed  his  teeth  upward  at  the  sides. 
Wordsworth,  who  notices  similar  mysterious  manifestations 
on  the  part  of  donkeys,  would  have  thought  it  ominous. 
Bonnyr.astle  was  passionately  fond  of  quoting  Shakspeare, 
and  telling  stories;  and  if  the  Edinburgh  Revieiv  had  just 
come  out,  would  give  us  all  the  jokes  in  it.  He  had  once 
an  hypochondriacal  disorder  of  long  duration  ;  and  he  told 
us,  that  he  should  never  forget  the  comfortable  sensation 
given  him  one  night  during  this  disorder,  by  his  knocking  a 
landlord,  that  was  insolent  to  him,  down  the  man's  staircase. 
On  the  strength  of  this  piece  of  energy  (having  first  as- 
certained that  the  offender  was  not  killed)  he  went  to  bed, 
and  had  a  sleep  of  unusual  soundness.  Perhaps  Bonnycastla 
thought  more  highly  of  his  talents  than  the  amount  of  them 
strictly  warranted  ;  a  mistake  to  which  scientific  men  appear 
to  be  more  liable  than  others,  the  universe  they  work  in  being 
so  large,  and  their  universality  (in  Bacon's  sense  of  the  word) 
being  often  so  small.  But  the  delusion  was  not  only  par- 
donable, but  desirable,  in  a  man  so  zealous  in  the  perform- 
ance of  his  duties,  and  so  much  of  a  human  being  to  all  about 
him,  as  Bonnycastle  was.  It  was  delightful  one  day  to  hear 
him  speak  with  complacency  of  a  translation  which  had 
appeared  of  one  of  his  books  in  Arabic,  and  which  began 
by  saying,  on  the  part  of  the  translator,  that  "it  had  pleased 
God,  for  the  advancement  of  human  knowledge,  to  raise  us 
up  a  Bonnycastle."  Some  of  his  stories  were  a  little  ro- 
mantic, and  no  less  authentic.  He  had  an  anecdote  of  a 
Scotchman,  who  boasted  of  being  descended  from  the  Ad- 
mirable Crichton  ;  in  proof  of  which,  the  Scotchman  said 
he  had  "  a  grit  quantity  of  table-leenen  in  his  possassion, 
marked  A.  C,  Admirable  Creechton." 

Kinnaird,  the  magistrate,  was  a  stout,  sanguine  man, 
under  the  middle  height,  with  a  fine,  lamping  black  eye, 
lively  to  the  last,  and  a  person  that  "  had  increased,  was 
increasing,  and  ought  to  have  been  diminished  ;  which  i? 
by  no  means  what  he  thought  of  the  prerogative.  Next  to 
his  bottle  he  was  fond  of  his  Horace  ;   and,  in  the  intervals 


KINNAIRD.  227 

of  business  at  the  police-office,  would  enjoy  both  in  his  arm- 
chair. Between  the  vulgar  calls  of  this  kind  of  magistracy, 
and  the  perusal  of  the  urbane  Horace,  there  must  have  been 
a  gusto  of  contradiction,  which  the  bottle,  perhaps,  was  re- 
quired to  render  quite  palatable.  Fielding  did  not  love  his 
bottle  the  less  for  being  obliged  to  lecture  the  drunken.  Nor 
did  his  son,  who  succeeded  him  in  taste  and  office.  I  know 
not  how  a  former  poet-laureat,  Mr.  Pye  managed  ;  another 
man  of  letters,  who  was  fain  to  accept  a  situation  of  this 
kind.  Having  been  a  man  of  fortune  and  a  member  of  Par- 
liament and  loving  his  Horace  to  boot,  he  could  hardly  have 
done  without  his  wine.  I  saw  him  once  in  a  state  of  scorn- 
ful indignation  at  being  interrupted  in  the  perusal  of  a 
manuscript  by  the  monitions  of  his  police-officers,  who  were 
obliged  to  remind  him  over  and  over  again  that  he  was  a 
magistrate,  and  that  the  criminal  multitude  were  in  waiting. 
Every  time  the  door  opened,  he  threatened  and  implored. 

'■  Otiuni  divos  rogat  in  patent! 
Prensus."' 

Had  you  quoted  this  to  Mr.  Kinnaird,  his  eyes  would  have 
sparkled  with  good-fellowship  :  he  would  have  finished  the 
verse  and  the  bottle  with  you,  and  proceeded  to  as  many 
more  as  your  head  could  stand.  Poor  fellow  ;  the  last  time 
I  saw  him,  he  was  an  apparition  formidably  substantial. 
The  door  of  our  host's  dining-room  opened  without  my  hear- 
ing it,  and,  happening  to  turn  round,  I  saw  a  figure  in  a  great 
coat,  literally  almost  as  broad  as  it  was  long,  and  scarcely 
able  to  articulate.  He  was  dying  of  a  dropsy,  and  was 
obliged  to  revive  himself,  before  he  was  fit  to  converse,  by 
the  wine  that  was  killing  him.  But  he  had  cares  besides, 
and  cares  of  no  ordinary  description  ;  and,  for  my  part,  I 
will  not  blame  even  his  wine  for  killing  him,  unless  his  cares 
could  have  done  it  more  agreeably.  After  dinner  that  day, 
he  was  comparatively  himself  again,  quo^d  his  Horace  as 
usual,  talked  of  lords  and  courts  with  a  rehsh,  and  begged 
that  God  save  the  King  might  be  played  to  him  on  the 
piano-forte  ;  to  which  he  listened,  as  if  his  soul  had  taken  its 
hat  off'.  I  believe  he  would  have  liked  to  die  to  God  save  tJie 
King,  and  to  have  "waked  and  found  those  visions  true." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

POLITICAL      CHARACTERS. 

Ministry  of  the  Pittites. — Time-serving  conduct  of  the  Allies. — Height 
and  downfall  of  Napoleon. — Character  of  George  the  Third. — Mis- 
takes and  sincerity  of  the  Examiner. — Indictment  against  it  respect- 
ing the  case  of  Major  Hogan. — Affair  of  Mrs.  Clai'ke. — Indictment 
respecting  the  reign  of  George  the  Third. — Perry,  proprietor  of  the 
Morning  Chronicle. — Characters  of  Canning,  Lord  Liverpool,  and 
Lord  Castlereagh. — Whigs  and  Whig-Radicals. — Queen  Victoria. — 
Royalty  and  Republics. — Indictment  respecting  military  flogging. — 
The  Attorney-general,  Sir  Vieary  Gibbs. 

The  Eo:amhicr  had  been  set  up  toward  the  close  of  the 
reign  of  George  the  Third,  three  years  before  the  appointment 
of  the  regency.  Pitt  and  Fox  had  died  two  years  before ; 
the  one,  in  middle  life,  of  constant  ill-success,  preying  on  a 
sincere  but  proud,  and  not  very  large  mind,  and  unwisely 
supported  by  a  habit  of  drinking ;  the  other,  of  older  but 
more  genial  habits  of  a  like  sort,  and  of  demands  beyond  his 
strength  by  a  sudden  accession  to  office.  The  king — a  con- 
scientious but  narrow-minded  man,  obstinate  to  a  degree  of 
disease  (which  had  lost  him  America),  and  not  always  deal- 
ing ingenuously,  even  with  his  advisers — had  lately  got  rid 
of  Mr.  Fox's  successors,  on  account  of  their  urging  the  Cath- 
olic claims.  He  had  summoned  to  office  in  their  stead  Lords 
Castlereagh,  Liverpool,  and  others,  who  had  been  the  clerks 
of  Mr.  Pitt ;  and  Bonaparte  was  at  the  height  of  his  power 
as  French  emperor,  setting  his  brothers  on  thrones,  and 
compelling  our  Pvussiau  and  German  allies  to  side  with  him 
under  the  most  mortifying  circumstances  of  tergiversation. 

It  is  a  melancholy  period  for  the  potentates  of  the  earth, 
when  they  fancy  themselves  obliged  to  resort  to  the  shabbiest 
measures  of  the  feeble  ;  siding  against  a  friend  M'ith  his  enemy ; 
joining  in  accusations  against  him  at  the  latter's  dictation  ; 
believed  by  nobody  on  either  side ;  returning  to  the  friend. 


BONAPARTE  AND  OUR  ALLIES.  229 

and  retreating  from  him,  according  to  the  fortunes  of  war  ; 
secretly  hoping,  that  the  friend  will  excuse  them  by  reason 
of  the  pauper's  plea,  necessity  ;  and  at  no  time  able  to  give 
better  apologies  for  their  conduct  than  those  "  mysterious 
ordinations  of  Providence,"  which  are  the  last  refuge  of  the 
destitute  in  morals,  and  a  reference  to  which  they  contemptu- 
ously deny  to  the  thief  and  the  "  king's  evidence."  It  proves 
to  them,  "  with  a  vengeance,"  the  "  something  rotten  in  the 
state  of  Denmark  ;"  and  will  continue  to  prove  it,  and  to  be 
despicable,  whether  in  bad  or  good  fortune,  till  the  world 
find  out  a  cure  for  the  rottenness. 

Yet  this  is  what  the  allies  of  England  were  in  the  habit 
of  doing,  through  the  whole  contest  of  England  with  France. 
When  England  succeeded  in  getting,  up  a  coalition  against 
Napoleon,  they  denounced  him  for  his  ambition,  and  set  out 
to  fight  him.  When  the  coalition  was  broken  by  his  armies, 
they  turned  round  at  his  bidding,  denounced  England,  and 
joined  him  in  fighting  against  their  ally.  And  this  was  the 
round  of  their  history  :  a  coahtion  and  a  tergiversation  al- 
ternately ;  now  a  speech  and  a  fight  against  Bonaparte,  who 
beat  them  ;  then  a  speech  and  a  fight  against  England,  who 
bought  them  off;  then,  again,  a  speech  and  a  fight  against 
Bonaparte,  who  beat  them  again ;  and  then,  as  before,  a 
speech  and  a  fight  against  England,  who  again  bought  them 
ofT.  Meanwhile,  they  took  every  thing  they  could  get, 
whether  from  enemy  or  friend,  seizing  with  no  less  greediness 
whatever  bits  of  territory  Bonaparte  threw  to  them  for  their 
meanness,  than  pocketing  the  millions  of  Pitt,  for  which  we 
are  paying  to  this  day. 

It  becomes  us  to  bow,  and  to  bow  humbly,  to  the  "  mys- 
terious dispensations  of  Providence  ;"  but  in  furtherance  of 
those  very  dispensations,  it  has  pleased  Providence  so  to  con- 
stitute us,  as  to  render  us  incapable  of  admiring  such  conduct, 
whether  in  king's  evidences  or  in  kings  ;  and  some  of  the 
meanest  figures  that  present  themselves  to  the  imagination 
in  looking  back  on  the  events  of  those  times,  arc  the  Em- 
perors of  Austria  and  Fwussia,  and  the  King  of  Prussia.  It 
is  salutary  to  bear  this  in  mind,  for  the  sake  of  royalty  itself. 
What  has  since  ruined  Louis  Philippe,  in  spite  of  all  his 


230  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ability,  is  his  confounding  royal  privileges  with  base  ones,  and 
his  not  keeping  his  word  as  a  gentleman. 

If  it  be  still  asked,  what  are  kings  to  do  under  such  cir 
cumstances  as  those  in  which  they  were  placed  with  Bona- 
parte ?  what  is  their  alternative  ?  it  is  to  be  replied,  firstly, 
that  the  question  has  been  answered  already,  by  the  mode  in 
which  the  charge  is  put ;  and,  secondly,  that  whatever  they 
do,  they  must  either  cease  to  act  basely,  and  like  the  mean- 
est of  mankind,  or  be  content  to  be  regarded  as  such,  and  to 
leave  such  stains  on  their  order  as  tend  to  produce  its  down- 
fall, and  to  exasperate  the  world  into  the  creation  of  republics. 
Republics,  in  the  first  instance,  are  never  desired  for  their 
own  sakes.  I  do  not  think  they  will  be  finally  desired  at 
all ;  certainly  not  unaccompanied  by  courtly  graces  and  good 
breeding,  and  whatever  can  tend  to  secure  to  them  orna- 
ment as  well  as  utility.  I  do  not  think  it  is  in  human 
nature  to  be  content  with  a  difi^erent  settlement  of  the  old 
question,  any  more  than  it  is  in  nature  physical  to  dispense 
with  her  pomp  of  flowers,  and  colors.  But  sure  I  am,  that 
the  first  cravings  for  republics  always  originate  in  some 
despair  created  by  the  conduct  of  kings. 

It  might  be  amusing  to  bring  together  a  few  of  the  exor- 
diums of  those  same  speeches,  or  state  papers,  of  the  allies  of 
George  the  Third ;  but  I  have  not  time  to  look  for  them  ;  and 
perhaps  they  would  prove  tiresome.  It  is  more  interestiiig 
to  consider  the  "state"  which  Bonaparte  kept  in  those  days, 
and  to  compare  it  with  his  exile  in  St.  Helena.  There  are 
more  persons,  perhaps,  in  the  present  generation  who  think 
of  Bonaparte  as  the  captive  of  Great  Britain,  defeated  by 
Wellington,  than  as  the  maker  of  kings  and  queens,  reigning 
in  Paris,  and  bringing  monarchs  about  his  footstool.  The 
following  is  the  figure  he  used  to  make  in  the  French  news- 
papers at  the  time  when  the  E:camiyier  was  set  up. 

NAPOLEON  AND  RUSSIA. 

"Tilsit,  June  25,  1807. 

"  This  day  at  one  o'clock,  the  emperor,  accompanied  by  the  Grand 

Duke  of  Berg,  the  Prince  of  Neufchatel,  Marshal  Bessieres,  the  Grand 

Marshal  of  the  Palace,  Duroc,  and  the  Grand  Equcry,  Caulaincourt, 

embarked  on  the  banks  of  the  Nieraen,  in  a  boat  prepared  for  the  pur- 


SUPREMACY  OF  NAPOLEON.  231 

pose.  They  proceeded  to  the  middle  of  the  river,  were  Genera) 
Lariboissiere,  commanding  the  artillery  of  the  guard,  had  caused  a 
raft  to  be  placed,  and  a  pavilion  erected  upon  it.  Close  by  it  was 
another  raft  and  pavilion  for  their  majesties'  suite.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment the  Emperor  Alexander  set  out  from  the  right  bank,  accompa- 
nied by  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine,  General  Beningsen,  General 
Ouvaroff,  Prince  LabanofT,  and  his  principal  aid-de-camp.  Count 
Lieven.  The  two  boats  arrived  at  the  same  instant,  and  the  two  em- 
perors embraced  each  other  as  soon  as  they  set  foot  on  the  raft.  They 
entered  together  the  saloon  which  was  prepared  for  them,  and  remain- 
ed there  during  two  hours.  The  conference  having  been  concluded, 
the  persons  composing  the  suite  of  the  two  emperors  were  introduced. 
The  Emperor  Alexander  paid  the  handsomest  compliments  to  the  offi- 
cers who  accompanied  the  emperor,  who,  on  his  part,  had  a  long  con- 
versation with  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  and  General  Beningsen." 

[Note. — That  the  compliments  to  officers  arc  all  paid  by  the  van- 
quislied  man,  the  Emperor  of  Russia.] 

NAPOLEON  AND  AUSTRIA. 

"Paris,  April  4,  1810. 
"  The  civil  marriage  of  his  majesty  the  emperor  and  king,  with  the 
archduchess,  of  Austria,  took  place  at  St.  Cloud,  on  the  1st  instant, 
and  the  public  entry  into  Paris,  and  the  i-eligious  ceremony,  the  next 
day.  Previously  to  the  public  entry,  the  weather  had  been  very  un- 
propitious,  but  on  the  firing  of  the  cannon  the  clouds  dispersed,  and  a 
serene  sky  and  brilliant  sunshine  enabled  the  Parisians  to  enjoy  the 
pageantry,  illuminations,  &c.  &c.,  which  continued  during  the  whole 
week.  At  the  civil  marriage  ceremony,  their  imperial  majesties  having 
taken  their  seats  on  the  throne,  the  princes  and  princesses  ranged  them- 
-  telves  in  the  following  order  : 

"  To  the  right  of  the  emperor,  Madame ;  Prince  Louis  Napoleon, 
King  of  Holland ;  Prince  Jerome  Napoleon,  King  of  Westphalia ; 
Prince  Borghese,  Duke  of  Guastalla  ;  Prince  Joachim  Napoleon,  King 
of  Naples  ;  Prince  Eugene,  Viceroy  of  Italy  ;  the  Prince  Arch-Chan- 
cellor ;  the  Prince  Vice  Grand  Elector.  To  the  left  of  the  empress, 
the  Princess  Julia,  Queen  of  Spain ;  the  Princess  Hortense,  Queen  of 
Holland  ;  the  Princess  Catharine,  Queen  of  Westphalia ;  the  Princess 
Eliza,  Grand  Duchess  of  Tuscany  ;  the  Princess  Pauline  ;  the  Princess 
Caroline,  Queen  of  Naples  ;  the  Grand  Duke  of  Wurtzburg  ;  the  Prin- 
cess Augusta,  Vice-Queen  of  Italy  ;  the  Princess  Stephanie,  Heredita- 
ry Grand  Duchess  of  BAden  ;  the  Prince  Arch-Treasurer  ;  the  Prince 
Vice-Constable,  &c.  &c." 

Look  on  those  pictures,  and  on  the  following  : 

'■  St.  Helena,  December  17,  1820. 
"  It  is  a  great  crime  here  to  call  Bonaparte  Emperor. 
"  He  appears  yery  unhappy.      The  governor  will  have  no  commimi- 


'J32  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

cation  with  Bertrand,  and  Bonaparte  will  not  receive  any  except  throiijib 
him.  This  system  of  vexation  is  said  to  annoy  him  considerably  ;  and 
combined  with  the  other  measures  adopted  toward  him  and  his  follow 
ers,  tends  to  keep  his  mind  in  a  state  of  continual  irritation." 

''May  15,  1821. 
"  Bonaparte  died  (on  the  5th  instant)  after  an  illness  of  six  weeks 
He  must  have  sudercd  great  pain,  though  no  complaint  was  uttered 
For  several  days  previous  to  his  death,  he  had  his  son's  bust  placed  at 
the  foot  of  his  bed,  and  constantly  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  it,  till  he 
breathed  his  last." 

But  the  fortunes  of  Napoleon  were  on  the  decline,  when 
they  appeared  to  be  at  their  height.  The  year  1808  beheld 
at  once  their  culmination  and  their  descent ;  and  it  was  the 
feeblest  of  his  vassals  who — by  the  very  excess  of  his  servility 
— gave  the  signal  for  the  change.  Fortunately,  too,  for  the 
interests  of  mankind,  the  change  was  caused  by  a  violation  of 
the  most  obvious  principles  of  justice  and  good  sense.  It  was 
owing  to  the  unblushing  seizure  of  Spain.  It  was  owing  to 
the  gross  and  unfeeling  farce  of  a  pretended  sympathy  with 
the  Spanish  king's  quarrel  with  his  son  ;  to  the  acceplance 
of  a  throne  which  the  ridiculous  father  had  no  right  to  give 
away ;  and  to  the  endeavor  to  force  the  accession  on  a  country, 
which,  instead  of  tranquilly  admitting  it  on  the  new  principles 
of  indifference  to  religion  and  zeal  for  advancement  (as  he  had 
ignorantly  expected),  opposed  it  with  the  united  vehemence 
of  dogged  bigotry  and  an  honest  patriotism. 

Spain  was  henceforth  the  millstone  hung  round  the  neck 
of  the  conqueror  ;  and  his  marriage  with  a  princess  of  Aus- 
tria, which  was  thought  such  a  wonderful  piece  of  success, 
only  furnished  him  with  a  like  impediment ;  for  it  added  to 
the  weight  of  his  unpopularity  with  all  honest  and  prospect- 
ive minds.  It  was  well  said  by  Cobbett,  that  he  had  much 
better  have  assembled  a  hundred  of  the  prettiest  girls  in 
France,  and  selected  the  prettiest  of  them  all  for  his  wife. 
The  heads  and  hearts  of  the  "Young  Continent"  were  hence- 
forward against  the  self  seeker,  ambitious  of  the  old  "  shows 
of  things,"  in  contradiction  to  the  honest  "desires  of  the 
mind."  Want  of  sympathy  was  prepared  for  him  in  case 
of  a  reverse;    and    when,   partly   in   the  confidence   of  his 


CAUSES  OF  NAPOLEON'S  DOWNFALL.  233 

military  pride,  partly  by  way  of  making  a  final  set-off" 
against  his  difficulties  in  Spain,  and  partly  in  very  igno- 
rance of  what  Russian  natures  and  Russian  winters  could 
effect,  he  went  and  ran  his  head  against  the  great  northern 
wall  of  ice  and  snow,  he  came  back  a  ruined  man,  masterly 
and  surprising  as  his  efforts  to  reinstate  himself  might  there- 
after be.  Nothing  remained  for  him  but  to  fume  and  fret 
in  spirit,  get  fatter  with  a  vitiated  state  of  body,  and  see  re- 
verse on  reverse  coming  round  him,  which  he  was  to  face  to 
no  purpose.  The  grandest  thing  he  did  was  to  return  from 
Elba  :  the  next,  to  fight  the  battle  of  Waterloo  ;  but  he 
went  to  the  field,  bloated  and  half  asleep,  in  a  carriage. 
He  had  already,  in  body,  become  one  of  the  commonest  of 
those  "emperors"  whom  he  had  first  laughed  at  and  then 
leagued  with  :  no  great  principle  stood  near  him,  as  it  did 
in  the  times  of  the  republic,  when  armies  of  shoeless  youths 
beat  l^e  veteran  troops  of  Austria  ;  and  thus,  deserted  by 
every  thing  but  his  veterans  and  his  generalship,  which 
came  to  nothing  before  the  unyieldingness  of  English,  and 
the  advent  of  Prussian  soldiers,  he  became  a  fugitive  in  the 
"  belle  France"  which  he  had  fancied  his  own,  and  died  a 
prisoner  in  the  hands  of  a  man  of  the  name  of  Lowe. 

I  do  not  believe  that  George  the  Third,  or  his  minister, 
Mr.  Pitt,  speculated  at  all  upon  a  catastrophe  like  this.  I 
mean,  that  T  do  not  believe  they  reckoned  upon  Napoleon 
destroying  himself  by  his  own  ambition.  They  looked,  it  is 
true,  to  the  chance  of  "  something  turning  up  ;"  but  it  was 
to  be  of  the  ordinary  kind.  They  thought  to  put  him  down 
by  paid  coalitions,  and  in  the  regular  course  of  war.  Hence, 
on  repeated  failures,  the  minister's  broken  heart,  and  proba- 
bly the  final  extinguishment  of  the  king's  reason.  The 
latter  calamity,  by  a  most  unfortunate  climax  of  untimeli- 
iiess,  took  place  a  little  before  his  enemy's  reverses. 

George  the  Third  was  a  very  brave  and  honest  man.  He 
feared  nothing  on  earth,  and  he  acted  according  to  his  convic- 
tions. But,  unfortunately,  his  convictions  were  at  the  mercy 
of  a  will  far  greater  than  his  understanding ;  and  hence  his 
courage  became  obstinacy  and  his  honesty  the  dupe  of  his  incli- 
nations.     He  was  the  son  of  a  father  with  little  brain,  and  of  a 


234  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

mother  wlio  had  a  diseased  blood :  indeed,  neither  of  his  parents 
was  healthy.  He  was  brought  up  in  rigid  principles  of  moral- 
ity on  certain  points,  by  persons  who  arc  supposed  to  have  evad- 
ed them  in  their  own  conduct :  he  was  taught  undue  notions 
of  kingly  prerogative  ;  he  was  suffered  to  grow  up,  nevertheless, 
in  homely  as  well  as  shy  and  moody  habits  ;  and,  while 
acquiring  a  love  of  power  tending  to  the  violent  and  un- 
controllable, lie  was  not  permitted  to  have  a  taste  of  it,  till 
he  became  his  own  master.  The  consequence  of  this  train- 
ing were  art  extraordinary  mixture  of  domestic  virtue  with 
official  duplicity  ;  of  rustical,  mechanical  tastes  and  popular 
manners,  with  the  most  exalted  ideas  of  authority  ;  of  a 
childish  and  self-betraying  cunning,  with  the  most  stubborn 
reserves  ;  of  fearlessness  with  sordidness  ;  good-nature  with 
unforgivingness  ;  and  of  the  health  and  strength  of  temper- 
ance and  self-denial,  with  the  last  weaknesses  of  understand- 
ing, and  passions  that  exasperated  it  out  of  its  reason.  The 
English  nation  were  pleased  to  see  in  him  a  crowning  speci- 
men of  themselves — a  royal  John  Bull.  They  did  not  dis- 
cover, till  too  late  (perhaps  have  not  yet  discovered),  how 
much  of  the  objectionable,  as  well  as  the  respectable,  lies 
hidden  in  the  sturdy  nickname  invented  for  them  by  Arbuth- 
not  ;  how  much  the  animal  predominates  in  it  over  the  in- 
tellectual ;  and  how  terribly  the  bearer  of  it  may  be  over- 
driven, whether  in  a  royal  or  a  national  shape.  They 
had  much  better  get  some  new  name  for  themselves, 
worthy  of  the  days  of  Queen  Victoria  and  of  the  hopes  of 
the  world. 

In  every  shape  I  reverence  calamity,  and  would  not  be 
thought  to  speak  of  it  with  levity,  especially  in  connection 
with  a  dynasty  which  has  since  become  estimable,  as  well  as 
reasonable,  in  'every  respect. 

If  the  histories  of  private  as  well  as  public  families  were 
known,  the  race  of  the  Guelphs  would  only  be  found,  in  the 
person  of  one  of  their  ancestors,  to  have  shared,  in  common 
perhaps  with  every  family  in  the  world,  the  sorrows  of  occa- 
sional deterioration.  But  in  the  greatest  and  most  tragical 
examples  of  human  suffering,  the  homeliest,  as  well  as  the 
loftiest  images,  are  too  often  forced  on  the  mind  together. 


EARLY  CAREER  OF  THE  "EXAMINER."  235 

George  the  Third,  with  all  his  faults,  was  a  more  estimable 
man  than  many  of  his  enemies,  and,  certainly,  than  any  of 
his  wholesale  revilers ;  and  the  memory  of  his  last  days  is 
sanctified  by  whatever  can  render  the  loss  of  sight  and  of 
reason  afiecting.  In  one  respect,  when  sensible  of  his 
calamity,  he  must  have  experienced  a  great  relief.  He 
saw  that  none  of  his  children  were  liable  to  it.  They  had 
been  saved  by  the  infusion  of  colder  and  more  judicious  blood 
from  another  German  stock.  George  the  Fourth,  though  not 
a  wise  man,  had  as  sane  a  constitution  as  any  man  in  his 
dominions ;  and  since  the  accession  of  his  brother  William, 
royalty  and  reason  have  never  gone  more  harmonious- 
ly together,  than  they  have  done  on  the  throne  of  Great 
Britain. 

Whatever  of  any  kind  has  taken  place  in  the  world,  may 
have  been  best  for  all  of  us  in  the  long  run.  Nature  per- 
mits us,  retrospectively,  and  for  comfort's  sake,  though  not 
in  a  difierent  spirit,  to  entertain  that  conclusion  among 
others.  But  meantime,  either  because  the  world  is  not  yet  old 
enough  to  know  better,  or  because  we  yet  live  but  in  the 
tuning  of  its  instruments,  and  have  not  learned  to  play  the 
harmonies  of  the  earth  sweetly,  men  feel  incited  by  what  is 
good  as  well  as  bad  in  them,  to  object  and  to  oppose  ;  and 
youth  being  the  season  of  inexperience  and  of  vanity,  as 
well  as  of  enthusiasm  otherwise  the  most  disinterested,  the 
Exami?ier,  which  began  its  career,  like  most  papers,  with 
thinking  the  worst  of  those  from  whom  it  differed,  and  ex- 
pressing its  mind  accordingly  with  fearless  sincerity  (which 
was  not  equally  the  case  with  those  papers),  it  speedily  ex- 
cited the  anger  of  government.  It  did  this  the  more,  inas- 
much as,  according  to  what  has  been  stated  of  its  opinions 
on  foreign  politics,  and  in  matters  of  church-government,  it 
did  not  fall  into  the  common  and  half-conciliating,  because 
degrading  error  of  antagonists,  by  siding,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  the  rest  of  its  enemies. 

I  need  not  re-open  the  questions  of  foreign  and  domestic 
policy,  which  were  mooted  with  the  ruling  powers  in  those 
days,  Preform  in  particular.  The  result  is  well  known,  and 
the  details   in  general   have   ceased  to  be  interesting.     I 


23G  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Avould  repeat  none  of  them  at  all,  if  personal  history  did  not 
give  a  new  zest  to  almost  any  kind  of  relation.  As  such, 
however,  is  the  case,  I  shall  proceed  to  observe,  that  the 
Examine}-  had  not  been  established  a  year,  when  govern- 
ment instituted  a  prosecution  against  it,  in  consequence  of 
some  remarks  on  a  pamphlet  by  a  Major  Ilogan,  who  accused 
the  Duke  of  York,  as  commander-in-chief,  of  favoritism  and 
corruption. 

Major  Hogan  was  a  furious  but  honest  Irishman,  who 
had  been  in  the  army  seventeen  years.  He  had  served  and 
suflered  bitterly  ;  in  the  West  Indies  he  possessed  the  high- 
est testimonials  to  his  character,  had  been  a  very  active 
recruiting  officer,  had  seen  forty  captains  promoted  over  his 
head  in  spite  of  repeated  applications  and  promises,  and  he 
desired,  after  all,  nothing  but  the  permission  to  purchase  his 
advancement,  agreeably  to  every  custom. 

Provoked  out  of  his  patience  by  these  fruitless  endeavors 
to  buy,  what  others  who  had  done  nothing,  obtained  for 
nothing,  and  being  particularly  disgusted  at  being  told,  for 
the  sixth  time,  that  he  had  been  "  noted  for  promotion,  and 
would  be  duly  considered,  as  favorable  opportunities  oflercd," 
the  gallant  Hibernian  went  straight,  without  any  further 
ado,  to  the  office  of  the  commander-in-chief,  and  there,  with 
a  vivacity  and  plain-speaking  which  must  have  looked  like 
a  scene  in  a  play,  addressed  his  Royal  Highness  in  a  speech 
that  astounded  him  : 

"I  submitted  (says  he)  to  his  Royal  Highness's  recollection,  the 
Jong  time  I  had  been  seeking  for  promotion,  and  begged  him  to  take 
into  his  consideration  the  nature  of  tlie  circumstances  under  wliich  I 
was  recommended  to  his  notice ;  particularly  pressintr  upon  his  at- 
tention, that,  in  the  course  of  the  time  I  had  been  'noted'  on  his  Ro^-al 
Highness's  list,  upward  of  forty  captains  had  been  promoted  without 
purchase,  all  of  whom  were  junior  to  rae  in  rank,  and  many  of  them, 
indeed,  were  not  in  the  army  when  I  was  a  captain.  I  added,  almost 
literally,  in  these  words,  'j\Iy  applications  for  promotion  have  been 
made  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  the  practice  of  the  army,  and  by 
the  king's  regulations ;  unfortunately  without  success.  Other  ways, 
please  your  Royal  Highness,  have  hot  a  recommended  to  me-  and 
frequent  propositions  have  been  made  b^  those  who  alfcctcd  to  pii-ssesa 
the  means  of  securinf^  that  object,  that  for  600/.  I  could  obtain  r 
majority  without  purchase,  which  is  little  more  than  half  tho  sum  I 


MAJOR  HOGAN  AND  THE  DUKE  OF  YORK.  237 

had  lodged  to  purc\iase  promotion  in  the  regular  course.*  But  I 
rejected  such  a  proposition  ;  for,  even  were  such  a  thing  possible,  I 
would  feel  it  unworthy  of  me,  as  a  British  oflicer  and  a  man,  to  owe 
the  king's  commission  to  low  intrigue  or  petticoat  influence !'  I 
expected  the  instantaneous  expression  of  his  Royal  Highness's  grati- 
tude for  such  a  candid  declaration.  I  looked  for  an  immediate  demand 
for  explanation,  and  was  prepared  with  ample  evidence  to  satisfy  his 
Highness,  that  such  p»-oeeedings  were  going  on  daily,  as  were  dis- 
graceful to  the  character  of  the  army.  But  no  question  was  put  to 
me ;  his  royal  mind  seemed  astounded,  vox  fmuibus  hcesit,  and  I 
retired." 

Having  thus  dumfounded  the  unhappy  commander-in- 
chief,  the  major,  in  his  pamphlet,  turned  round  upon  certain 
acquaintances  of  his  Royal  Highness,  and  thus  further  pro- 
ceeded to  astonish  the  public  : 

''It  has  been  observed  to  me  (says  he),  by  connoisseurs,  that  I 
should  have  had  no  reason  to  complain,  if  I  had  proceeded  in  the 
proper  way  to  seek  promotion.  But  what  is  meant  by  the  proper 
way  ?  I  applied  to  the  Duke  of  York,  because  he  was  commander- 
in-chief.  To  his  Royal  Highness  I  was  directed  by  the  King's  order 
to  apply  ;  and  with  these  orders  alone  I  felt  it  consistent  with  my  duty 
as  an  oflicer,  and  my  honor  as  a  gentleman,  to  comply.  But  if  any 
other  person  had  been  the  substitute  of  the  Duke  of  York,  I  should 
have  made  my  application  to  that  person.  If  a  Cooke,  a  Creswell,  a 
Clarke,  a  Sinclair,  or  a  Carey,  or  any  other  name  had  been  invested  by 
his  Majesty  with  the  oflice  of  commander-in-chief,  to  that  person  I  should 
have  applied.  Nay,  if  it  had  pleased  his  Majesty  to  confer  upon  a 
female  the  direct  command  of  the  army,  I  should  have  done  my  duty, 
in  applying  to  the  legal  depository  of  power.  But  to  no  one  other 
should  I  condescend  to  apply ;  for  I  scorn  undue  influence,  and  feel  in- 
capable of  enjoying  any  object,  however  intrinsically  valuable,  that 
should  be  procured  by  such  means. 

"  I  have  that  evidence  by  me  (he  observes)  ;  indeed,  I  am  in 
possession  of  such  facts,  as  it  would  be  imprudent  in  me  to  write,  and 
as  no  printer  in  England  perhaps' would  ventitre  to  publish.  But  if 
any  member  of  either  House  of  Parliament  should  be  disposed  to  take 
up  the  subject,  I  can  furnish  him  with  materials  that  would  enable  him 
to  make  such  an  expose,  as  shall  stagger  even  the  credulity  proverbi- 
ally ascribed  to  this  country. 


*  "  The  money  paid  in  the  regular  course  goes  into  a  public  fund, 
which  is  not  tangible  by  any  public  officer  for  private  purposes,  while 
the  private  douceur  is  wholly  applicable  to  such  purposes." — The 
MaJor^s  Pamphlet. 


238  LIP^E  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

"As  some  pioortlial  1  uia  known  to  possess  materials  that  arc  cal- 
culated to  excite  alarm  amonq;  those  who  must  recollect  their  own 
acts,  and,  if  they  are  at  all  sensible,  must  be  fully  conscious  of  their 
objectionable  character.  I  have  to  state  the  following  extraordinary  fact : 
About  dusk  on  the  evening  of  the  first  day  my  advertisement  appeared, 
a  lady  in  a  dashin<:^  barouche,  with  two  footmen,  called  at  the  news- 
paper-ollice  for  my  address.  She  must  be,  no  doubt,  one  of  the  vul- 
nerable corps,  or  their  agent;  as,  upon  the  following  evening,  at  my 
lodgings,  the  waiter  delivered  me  a  letter,  which  I  opened  in  the 
presence  of  four  gentlemen,  whose  attestation  to  the  fact  appears  below. 
The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  letter  : 

"  '  Sir — The  inclosed  will  answer  for  the  deficit  of  which  j'ou  com- 

plain,  and  which  was  not  allowed  you  through  mere  oversight.     I 

hope  this  will  prevent  the  publication  of  your  intended  pamphlet ;  and, 

if  it  does,  you  may  rely  on  a  better  situation  than  the  one  you  had. 

When  I  find  that  you  have  given  up  all  your  secrets  from  public  view, 

which  would  hurt  you  with  all  the  royal  family,  I  shall  make  myself 

known  to  you,  and  shall  be  happy  in  your  future  acquaintance  and 

friendship ;  by  which,  I  promise  you,  you  will  reap  much  benefit.     If 

you  recall  the  advertisment,  you  shall  hear  from  me,  and  your  claims 

shall  be  rewarded  as  they  deserve. 

"'Major  IIooan.' 

"  '  Saturday,  Tith  August,  1808. 

" '  We,  the  undersigned,  do  hereby  certify,  that  we  were  present 
when  Major  Hogan  opened  this  letter  and  inclosure,  containing  four 
bank-notes  to  the  amount  of  four  hundred  pounds. 

*' '  John  D.vniel,  late  Capt.  17th  Light  Drags. 
Francis  Moe. 

HE^'RY  WiiE.iT,  Lieut.  32d  Regt. 
Lewis  Gasquet,  late  Lieut.  20th  Light  Drags. 
'  Frank's  Coffee-house.'' 

" '  I  do  hereby  certify,  that  this  letter  was  delivered  to  me  at  the 
door  by  a  lady,  who  particularly  desired  mo  to  be  careful  to  give  it  to 
Major  Hogan,  and  instantly  went  away :  it  was  dusk  at  the  time  ;  I 
returned  into  the  cofl'ee-roora  and  delivered  the  letter. 

"  'George  Fozed, 
"  '  Waiter,  Frank's  Coffee-house. 

"  But  such  expedients  shall  have  no  effect  upon  the  revelations  of 

"D.  Hogan. 
"  Frank's  Hotel,  3,  Brook-street,  Sept.  2, 1808. 

"  P.  S. — The  person  who  inclosed  the  four  hundred  pounds,  not 
having  left  any  address,  I  can  not  ascertain  to  whom  I  am  to  return 
that  sum ;  but  if  the  numbers  of  the  notes  received  are  sent  to  No 
14  Angel-court,  Throgmorton-street,  the  money  will  be  returned. 
D.  H." 


MRS.  CLARKE  BEFORE  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS.     239 

The  Examiner  made  comments  on  these  disclosures,  of  a 
nature  that  was  to  be  expected  from  its  ardor  in  the  cause 
of  Reform ;  not  omitting,  however,  to  draw  a  distinction 
between  the  rights  of  domestic  privacy  and  the  claims  to 
indulgence  set  up  by  traffickers  in  public  corruption.  The 
government,  however,  cared  nothing  for  this  distinction ; 
neither  would  it  have  had  the  corruption  inquired  into. 
Its  prosecutions  were  of  a  nature  that  did  not  allow  truth  to 
be  investigated  ;  and  one  of  these  was  accordingly  instituted 
against  us,  when  it  was  unexpectedly  turned  aside  by  a 
member  of  Parliament,  Colonel  Wardle,  who  was  resolved 
to  bring  the  female  alluded  to  by  Major  Hogan  before  the 
notice  of  that  tribunal. 

I  say  "  unexpectedly,"  because  neither  then,  nor  at  any 
time,  had  I  the  least  knowledge  of  Colonel  Wardle.  The 
Examiner,  so  to  speak,  lived  quite  alone.  It  sought  nobody  ; 
and  its  principles  in  this  respect  had  already  become  so  well 
understood  that  few  sought  it,  and  no  one  succeeded  in  making 
its  acquaintance.  The  colonel's  motion  for  an  investigation 
came  upon  us,  therefore,  like  a  god-send.  The  prosecution 
against  the  paper  was  dropped  ;  and  the  whole  attention  of 
the  country  was  drawn  to  the  strange  spectacle  of  a,  laugh- 
ing, impudent  woman,  brought  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  forcing  them  to  laugh  in  their  turn  at  the 
efirontery  of  her  answers.  The  poor  Duke  of  York  had 
parted  with  her,  and  she  had  turned  against  him. 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  the  dialogue  : 

Question.  Who  brou<rht  that  message  ? 

J.nsiver.  A  particular  friend  of  the  duke's — Mr.  Taylor,  a  shoemaker 
in  Bond-street — (a  laugh). 

Q.  Pray,  by  whom  did  you  send  your  desires  to  the  duke  ? 

Jl.  By  my  own  pen. 

Q.  I  wish  to  know  who  brought  the  letter  ? 

Jl.  Why,  the  same  Embassador  of  ^Morocco — {loud  laughing.)  Tho 
•witness  was  here  eallod  to  order  by  the  Speaker,  and  admonished  to  bo 
more  eireumspect,  or  .she  would  receive  the  censure  of  the  House. 

Q.  What  is  your  husband's  name  ? 

Jl.  Clarke. 

Q.  Where  were  you  married  ? 

Jl.  Mr.  W.  Adam  can  tell.     (Adam  was  the  duke's  agent.) 


240  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

Q.  Did  you  not  say  you  were  married  in  Berkhampstead  church  ? 

w4.  No ;  I  merely  laughed  at  it,  when  I  heard  it. 

Q.  Did  you  ever  see  INIr.  Alderman  Clarke,  or  do  you  now  believe 
that  your  husband  was  his  nephew  ? 

^.  I  don't  recollect  having  seen  Mr.  Alderman  Clarke ;  and  as  to  my 
husband,  I  never  took  any  pains  to  ascertain  any  thing  respecting  him, 
since  I  quitted  him.       He  is  nothing  to  mc,  nor  I  to  him. 

Q.  But  what  profession  was  he  of? 

j1.  None  that  I  know  of;  but  his  father  was  a  builder.  (He  was 
understood  to  be  a  mason.) 

***** 

Q.  Have  you  not,  at  various  times,  received  money  from  Mr.  Dow- 
ler?      (Dowler  was  Assistant-Commissary  of  Stores.) 

^.  At  some  particular  times.  I  had  a  thousand  pounds  from  him 
for  his  situation. 

Q.  Do  you  owe  any  money  to  Mr.  Dowler? 

.4.  I  never  recollect  my  debts  to  gentlemen — (a  loml  burst  of 
laughter). 

The  upshot  of  the  investigation  was,  that  Mrs.  Clarke 
had  evidently  made  money  by  the  seekers  of  mihtary  pro- 
motion, but  that  the  duke  was  pronounced  innocent  of 
connivance.  His  Royal  Highness  withdrew  however  from 
office  for  a  time  (for  he  was  not  long  afterward  reinstated), 
and  public  opinion,  as  to  his  innocence  or  guilt,  went  mean- 
while pretty  much  according  to  that  of  party. 

My  own  impression,  at  this  distance  of  time,  and  after 
better  knowledge  of  the  duke's  private  history  and  prevail- 
ing character,  is,  that  there  was  some  connivance  on  his 
part,  bnt  not  of  a  systematic  nature,  or  beyond  what  he 
may  have  considered  as  warrantable  toward  a  few  special 
friends  of  his  mistress,  on  the  assumption  that  she  would 
carry  her  influence  no  farther.  His  own  letters  proved 
that  he  allowed  her  to  talk  to  him  of  people  with  a  view  to 
promotion.  He  even  let  her  recommend  him  a  clergyman, 
who  (as  he  phrased  it)  had  an  ambition  to  '•  preach  before 
royalty."  He  said  he  would  do  what  he  could  to  bring  it 
about ;  probably  thinking  nothing  whatsoever — I  mean, 
never  having  the  thought  enter  his  head — of  the  secret 
scandal  of  the  thing,  or  not  regarding  his  consent  as  any 
thing  but  a  piece  of  good-natured  patronizing,  acquiescence, 
after  the  ordinary  fashion  of  the  "  ways  of  the  world." 

For,   in   truth,  the  duke  of  York  was  as  good-natured  a 


TORY  MIM«TRY   VERSUS  THE  "EXAMINER."        241 

man  as  he  was  far  from  being  a  wise  one.  The  investiga- 
tion gave  him  a  salutary  caution  ;  but  I  really  believe,  on 
the  whole,  that  he  had  already  been,  as  he  was  afterward, 
a  very  good,  conscientious  war-office  clerk.  He  was  a  brave 
man,  though  no  general ;  a  very  filial,  if  not  a  very  thinking 
politician  (for  he  always  voted  to  please  his  father) ;  and  if 
he  had  no  idea  of  economy,  it  is  to  be  recollected  how  easily 
princes'  debts  are  incurred — how  often  encouraged  by  the 
creditors  who  complain  of  them ;  and  how  often,  and  how 
temptingly  to  the  debtor,  they  are  paid  off  by  governments. 

As  to  his  amours,  the  temptations  of  royalty  that  way 
are  still  greater  :  the  duke  seems  to  have  regarded  a  mistress 
in  a  very  tender  and  conjugal  point  of  view,  as  long  as  the 
lady  chose  to  be  equally  considerate  ;  and  if  people  wonder- 
ed why  such  a  loving  man  did  not  love  his  duchess — who 
appears  to  have  been  as  good-natured  as  himself — the  wonder 
ceased  when  they  discovered,  that  her  Royal  Highness  was 
a  lady  of  so  whimsical  a  taste,  and  possessed  such  an  over- 
flowing amount  of  benevolence  toward  the  respectable  race 
of  beings,  hight  dogs,  that  in  the  constant  oc^ipation  of  look- 
ing after  the  welfare  of  some  scores  of  her  canine  friends,  she 
had  no  leisure  to  cultivate  the  society  of  those  human  ones, 
that  could  better  dispense  with  her  attentions. 

The  ministers  naturally  grudged  the  Examiner  its  escape 
from  the  Hogan  prosecution,  especially  as  they  gained  nothing 
with  the  paper,  in  consequence  of  their  involuntary  forbear- 
ance. Accordingly,  before  another  year  was  out,  they  in- 
stituted a  second  prosecution  ;  and  so  eager  Avere  they  to 
bring  it,  that,  in  their  haste,  they  again  overleaped  their 
prudence.  Headers  in  the  present  times,  when  more  libels 
have  been  written  in  a  week  by  Toryism  itself  against 
royalty,  in  the  most  irreverent  style,  than  appeared  in  those 
days  in  the  course  of  a  year  from  pens  the  most  radical,  and 
against  princes  the  most  provoking,  are  astonished  to  hear, 
that  the  offense  we  had  committed  consisted  of  the  following 
sentence  : 

"  Of  all  monarchs  since  the  Revolution,  the  successor  of 
George  the  Third  will  have  the  finest  opportunity  of  becom- 
ing nobly  popular." 

VOL.  I. — L 


2\'2  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

But  the  real  offense  was  the  contempt  displayed  toward 
the  ministers  themselves.  The  article  in  which  the  sentence 
appeared,  was  entitled  "  Change  of  Ministry  ;  "  the  Diike  of 
Portland  had  just  retired  from  the  premiership  ;  and  the 
Examiner  had  been  long-  girding  him  and  liis  associates  on 
the  score  of  general  incompetency,  as  well  as  their  particular 
unfitness  for  constitutional  government.  The  ministers  cared 
nothing  for  the  king,  in  any  sense  of  personal  zeal,  or  of  a 
particular  wish  to  vindicate  or  exalt  him.  The  tempers, 
caprices,  and  strange  notions  of  sincerity  and  craft,  to  which 
he  was  subject,  by  neutralizing  in  a  great  measure  his  ordi- 
nary good  nature  and  somewhat  exuberant  style  of  inter- 
course on  the  side  of  familiarity  and  gossiping,  did  not  render 
him  a  very  desirable  person  to  deal  with,  even  among  friends. 
But  he  "was  essentially  a  Tory  king,  and  so  far  a  favorite  of 
Tories  ;  he  was  now  terminating  the  fiftieth  year  of  his  reign ; 
there  was  to  be  a  jubilee  in  consequence  ;  and  the  ministers 
thought  to  turn  the  loyalty  of  the  holiday  into  an  instrument 
of  personal  revenge. 

The  entire  passage  charged  with  being  libellous  in  that 
article,  consisted  of  the  words  marked  in  italics,  and  the 
framers  of  the  indictment  evidently  calculated  on  the  usual 
identification  of  a  special  with  a  Tory  jury.  They  had 
reckoned,  at  the  same  time,  so  confidently  on  the  effect  to  be 
produced  with  that  class  of  persons,  by  any  objection  to  the 
old  king,  that  the  proprietor  of  the  Morning  Chroiiicle,  Mr. 
Perrj^  was  prosecuted  for  having  extracted  only  the  two  con- 
cluding sentences  ;  and  as  the  government  was  still  more 
angered  with  the  Whigs  who  hoped  to  displace  them,  than 
with  the  Radicals  Avho  Avished  to  see  them  displaced,  Mr. 
Perry's  profocution  preceded  ours.  This  was  fortunate ; 
for  though  the  proprietor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle  pleaded 
his  own  cause,  an  occasion  in  which  a  man  is  said  to  have 
"a  fool  for  his  client"  (that  is  to  say,  in  the  opinion  of 
lawyers),  he  pleaded  it  so  well,  and  the  judge  (Ellenborough) 
who  afterward  showed  himself  so  zealous  a  Whig,  gave  him 
a  hearing  and  construction  so  favorable,  that  he  obtained  an 
acquittal,  and  the  prosecution  against  the  Examiner  accord* 
ingly  fell  to  the  ground. 


MR.  TERRY  OF  THE  "MORNING  CHROx\ICLE."        243 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  from  this  gentleman  while  his 
indictment  was  pending.  He  came  to  tell  me  how  he  meant 
to  conduct  his  defense.  He  was  a  lively,  good-natured  man, 
with  a  shrewd  expression  of  countenance,  and  twinkling  eyes, 
which  he  not  unwillingly  turned  upon  the  ladies.  I  had 
lately  married,  and  happened  to  be  sitting  with  my  wife. 
A  chair  was  given  him  close  to  us  ;  but  as  he  was  very 
near-sighted,  and  yet  could  not  well,  put  up  his  eyeglass  to 
look  at  her  (which  purpose,  nevertheless,  he  was  clearly 
bent  on  effecting),  he  took  occasion,  while  speaking  of  the 
way  in  which  he  should  address  the  jury,  to  thrust  his  face 
close  upon  hers,  observing  at  the  same  time,  with  his  liveli- 
est emphasis,  and,  as  if  expressly  for  her  information,  "T 
mean  to  be  very  modest." 

The  unexpectedness  of  this  announcement,  together  with 
the  equivocal  turn  given  to  it  by  the  vivacity  of  his  move- 
ment, had  all  the  effect  of  a  dramatic  surprise,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  we  kept  our  countenance. 

Mr.  Perry  subsequently  became  one  of  my  warmest 
friends,  and,  among  other  services,  would  have  done  me 
one  of  a  very  curious  nature,  which  I  will  mention  by-and- 

As  the  importance  attached  to  the  article  by  government 
may  give  it  some  interest,  and  as  it  is  not  iinamusing,  I  will 
here  lay  the  greater  part  of  it  before  the  reader.  He  will 
see  what  a  very  little  figure  is  made  in  it  by  the  words  that 
were  prosecuted,  and  in  how  much  greater  a  degree  the 
writer's  mind  must  have  been  occupied  with  the  king's 
ministers,  than  with  the  king. 

"Political  Examiner,  No.  92. — Change  of  Ministry. 

"  The  administration  i.s  still  without  a  head,  but  the  ministerial 
papers  tells  us,  it  does  quite  as  well  as  before.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
of  it.  As  it  is  not  customary,  however,  for  headless  trunks  to  make 
their  appearance  at  court,  or  to  walk  abroad  under  pretense  of  lookinfr 
after  the  nation,  it  feels  rather  awkward  without  some  show  of  pcM-icra- 
nium  ;  and,  accordingly,  like  the  vivacious  f^iant  in  Ariosto,  who  dived 
to  recover  bis  head  out  of  the  sea,  it  has  exhibited  a  singular  ingenu- 
ity in  endeavoring  to  sup[)ly  its. loss.  At  one  moment,  it  was  said  to 
have  clapped  a  great  bottle  on  his  shoulders,  and  called  itself  Richmond  : 
at  another,  to  have  mounted  an  attorney's  bag,  under  the  name  of  Per- 


241  LIFK  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

ceval ;  and  at  a  third,  to  have  pat  on  an  enormous  balloon,  and  strntteu 
forth  under  the  appellation  of  Wclleslcy.  The  very  idea,  however,  of 
these  repairs  appeared  so  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  the  speetators,  that 
the  project  seems  to  have  been  abandoned  for  a  time  ;  for  the  trunk  in- 
stantl}'  set  about  repairing  the  additional  loss  of  its  arms,  which  were 
taken  olT  the  other  day  in  a  duel.*  To  this  end,  it  is  said  to  have 
applied  to  two  great  lords  for  assistance, t  who  answered,  with  mani- 
fest contempt,  that  they  could  not  think  of  separating  any  of  their 
members  fi-om  each  other  to  patch  up  so  vile  a  bod\^  The  fragment, 
therefore,  continues  in  a  very  desponding  way  at  St.  James's,  where 
it  keeps  itself  alive  by  cutting  out  articles  for  the  Morning  Post  with 
its  toes,  and  kicking  every  Catholic  who  comes  that  way,  to  the  great 
diversion  of  the  court.  The  other  day  it  was  introduced  to  his  Majesty. 
\vho  was  pleased  to  express  great  commiseration  at  its  want  of  brains, 
and  said  he  would  do  something  for  it  if  he  could. 

"  Such  is  the  picture,  and  unfortunately  no  exaggerated  one,  of  the 
British  ministry.  What  the  French  must  think  of  it,  is  too  mortifying 
for  reflection.  Perhaps  there  never  was  an  instance  in  this  nation  of 
any  set  of  rulers,  who  sutTered  under  a  contempt  so  universal.  In  the 
general  run  of  politics,  people  differ  with  each  other  on  the  acts  of  ad- 
ministration, as  so  many  matters  of  opinion;  but  to  admire  Perceval 
and  Castlereagh  is  an  enormity  reconcilable  to  no  standard  of  common 
sense.  Wherever  there  is  an  intellect,  unpolluted  by  interest,  there 
the  contempt  of  these  men  is  pure  and  unmixed.  They  can  not  even 
produce  a  decent  hireling  to  advocate  their  cause  ;  their  writers  have 
become  proverbially  wretched ;  and  I  believe  the  most  galling  thing 
that  could  be  said  to  an  author  applying  for  one's  opinion  of  his  manu- 
script, would  be  to  tell  hfim  that  he  writes  like  the  Post.  As  to  the 
contractors  and  jobbers,  who  all  praise  the  ministry,  there  are  no  doubt 
some  shrewd  men  in  so  large  a  body  of  people ;  but  a  jobber  has  no 
opinion ;  his  object  is  to  cheat  the  army  and  navy,  and  become  a  bar- 
onet ;  and  he  knows  very  well,  that  these  things  are  not  done  by  speak- 
ing the  truth.  A  contractor,  therefore,  should  never  say,  '  It  is  my 
opinion,'  or,  'I  really  think,'  as  Sir  William,  and  Sir  Charles,  and  Sir 
James  are  apt  to  do,  by  slips  of  the  tongue  :  he  shouU  say,  '  My  turtle 
informs  me  ;' — '  I  understand  by  a  large  order  I  had  the  other  day ;' — 
'  I  am  told  by  a  vcr)'  accurate  bale  of  goods,'  &c.  &c.  When  such  men 
can  come  forward  and  render  themselves  politically  prominent  by  sound- 
ing the  praises  of  an  administration,  it  is  a  sure  sign  that  there  is  no- 
body else  to  do  it. 

"  That  Lords  Grenville  and  Grey  should  have  refused  to  coalesce 
with  such  a  ministrj',  can  not  be  matter  of  surprise.  Mere  shame,  one 
■would  think,  must  prevent  them.  Accordingly,  their  lordships  are  said 
to  have  transmitted  the  same  prompt  refusal  I'rom  the  country,  though 
at  the  distance  of  six  hundred  miles  from  each  other.     Lord  Grenville, 


*  Between  Canning  and  Xord  Castlereagh. 
t  Grey  and  Grenville. 


RECONSIDERATION  OF  YOUNG  CONCLUSIONS.         245 

however,  having  followed  his  letter  to  town,  caused  a  '  great  sensation' 
among  the  coffee-house  speculators,  who  gave  him  up  for  lost  in  the 
irresistible  vortex  of  place  ;  but  the  papers  of  yesterday  tell  us,  that  his 
journey  was  in  consequence  of  the  artful  ambiguity  of  Jlr.  Perceval's 
letter,  which  was  so  worded  as  to  render  it  doubtful  whether  its  pro- 
posals came  direct  from  his  Majesty,  or  only  from  the  minister ;  his 
lordship,  they  say,  was  inclined  to  view  it  in  the  former  light,  and 
therefore  thought  himself  '  bound  to  be  near  the  court  in  its  emergen- 
cies ;'  whereas,  Lord  Grey  regarded  it  entirely  as  a  ministerial  trap, 
and  treated  it  accoi'dingly.  Whatever  may  be  the  truth  of  these  state- 
ments, it  is  generally  supposed  that  the  mutilated  administration,  in 
spite  oj"  its  tenacity  of  life,  can  not  exist  much  longer  ;  and  the  Foxites, 
of  course,  are  beginning  to  rally  round  their  leaders,  in  order  to  give  it 
the  coup-de-grace.  j1  more  respectable  set  of  men  they  certainly  arc, 
loith  more  general  information,  more  attention  to  the  encouragement  of 
intellect,  and  altogether  a  more  enlightened  policy  ;  and  if  his  Majesty 
could  be  persuaded  to  enter  into  their  conciliatory  views  with  regard  to 
Ireland,  a  most  important  and  most  necessary  benefit  would  he  obtained 
for  this  country.  The  subject  of  Ireland,  next  to  the  difficulty  of  coali- 
tion, is  no  doubt  the  great  trouble  in  the  election  of  his  Majesty's  serv- 
ants ;  and  it  is  this,  most  probably,  which  has  given  rise  to  the  talk  of  a 
regency,  a  measure  to  which  the  court  would  never  resort  while  it  felt  a 
possibility  of  acting  upon  its  oivn  principles.  What  a  crovxl  of  blessings 
rush  upon  one's  mind,  that  might  be  bestowed  upon  the  country  in  the 
event  of  such  a  change  !  Of  all  monarchs,  indeed,  since  the  Revolution, 
the  successor  of  George  the  Third  will  have  the  finest  opportunity  of  be- 
coming nobly  popular.'''' 

Of  the  ministers,  whom  a  young  journalist  thus  treated 
with  contempt,  I  learned  afterward  to  think  better.  Not  as 
ministers  ;  for  I  still  consider  them,  in  that  respect,  as  the 
luckiest,  and  the  least  deserving  their  luck,  of  any  statesmen 
that  have  been  employed  by  the  House  of  Brunswick.  1 
speak  not  only  of  the  section  at  that  moment  reigning,  but  of 
the  whole  of  what  was  called  Mr.  Pitt's  successors.  But 
with  the  inexperience  and  presumption  of  youth,  I  was  too 
much  in  the  habit  of  confounding  difference  of  opinion  with 
dishonest  motives.  I  did  not  see  (and  it  is  strange  how  peo- 
ple, not  otherwise  wanting  in  common  sense  or  modesty,  can 
pass  whole  lives  without  seeing)  that  if  I  had  a  right  to  have 
good  motives  attributed  to  myself  by  those  who  differed  with 
me  in  opinion,  I  was  bound  to  reciprocate  the  concession.  I 
did  not  reflect  that  political  antagonists  have  generally  been 
born  and  bred  in  a  state  of  antagonism,  and  that  for  any  one 


246  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

of  them  to  demand  identity  of  opinion  from  anotlicr  on  pain 
of  his  being  thoufrht  a  man  of  bad  motives,  Avas  to  demand 
that  he  should  have  had  the  antagonist's  father  and  mother 
as  well  as  his  own — the  same  training,  the  same  direction 
of  conscience,  the  same  predilections  and  very  prejudices  ;  not 
to  mention,  that  good  motives  themselves  might  have  induced 
a  man  to  go  counter  to  all  these,  even  had  he  been  bred  in 
them  ;  which,  in  one  or  two  respects,  was  the  case  with  myself. 
Canning,  indeed,  was  not  a  man  to  be  treated  with  con- 
tempt, under  any  circumstances,  by  those  who  admired  wit 
and  rhetoric ;  though,  compared  with  what  he  actually 
achieved  in  either,  I  can  not  help  thinking  that  his  position 
procured  him  an  undue  measure  of  fame.  What  has  he  left 
us  to  perpetuate  the  amount  of  it  ?  A  speech  or  two,  and 
the  Ode  on  the  Knife- Grinder.  This  will  hardly  account, 
with  the  next  ages,  for  the  statue  that  occupies  the  highway 
in  Westminster ;  a  compliment,  too,  unique  of  its  kind  ; 
monopolizing  the  parliamentary  pavement,  as  though  the 
original  had  been  the  only  man  fit  to  go  forth  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  Parliament  itself,  and  to  challenge  the  admiration 
of  the  passengers.  The  liberal  measures  of  Canning's  last 
days  renewed  his  claim  on  the  public  regard,  especially  as 
he  was  left,  by  the  jealousy  and  resentment  of  his  colleagues, 
to  carry  them  by  himself;  jealousy,  because  small  as  his  wit 
was  for  a  great  fame,  they  had  none  of  their  own  to  equal 
it ;  and  resentment,  because,  in  its  indiscretions  and  incon- 
siderateness,  it  had  nicknamed  or  bantered  them  all  round — 
the  real  cause,  I  have  no  doubt,  of  that  aristocratical  deser- 
tion of  his  ascendency,  which  broke  his  heart  at  the  very 
height  of  his  fortunes.  But  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  I  took 
him  for  nothing  but  a  great  sort  of  impudent  Eton  boy,  with 
an  unfeelingness  that  surmounted  his  ability.  Whereas,  he 
was  a  man  of  great  natural  sensibility,  a  good  husband  and 
father,  and  an  admirable  son.  Canning  continued,  as  long 
as  he  lived,  to  write  a  letter  every  week  to  his  mother  who 
had  been  an  actress,  and  whom  he  treated,  in  every  respect, 
with  a  consideration  and  tenderness  that  may  be  pronounced 
to  have  been  perfect.  "Good  son"  should  have  been  written 
under  his  statue.      It  would  have  given  the  somewhat  pert 


LORDS  LIVERPOOL  AND  CASTLEREAGH.  2-17 

look  of  his  handsome  face  a  pleasanter  effect ;  and  have  done 
him  a  thousand  times  more  good  with  the  coming  generations, 
than  his  Ode  on  the  Knife- Grinder . 

The  Earl  of  Liverpool,  whom  Madame  de  Stael  is  said 
to  have  described  as  having  a  "  talent  for  silence,"  and  to 
have  asked,  in  company,  what  had  become  of  "  that  dull 
epeaker,  Lord  Hawkesbury"  (his  title  during  his  father's 
tifetime),  was  assuredly  a  very  dull  minister  ;  but  I  believe 
he  was  a  very  good  man.  His  father  had  been  so  much  in 
the  confidence  of  the  Earl  of  Bute  at  the  accession  of  George 
III.,  as  to  have  succeeded  to  his  invidious  reputation  of  being 
the  secret  adviser  of  the  king  :  and  he  continvied  in  great 
favor  during  the  whole  of  the  reign.  The  son,  with  little 
interval,  was  in  office  during  the  Avhole  of  the  war  with 
Napoleon  ;  and  after  partaking  of  all  the  bitter  draughts  of 
disappointment  which  ended  in  kilHng  Pitt,  had  the  luck  of 
tasting  the  sweets  of  triumph.  I  met  him  one  day,  not 
long  afterward,  driving  his  barouche  in  a  beautiful  spot 
where  he  lived,  and  was  so  struck  with  the  melancholy  of 
his  aspect,  that,  as  I  did  not  know  him  by  sight,  I  asked  a 
passenger  who  he  was. 

The  same  triumph  did  not  hinder  poor  Lord  Castlereagh 
from  dying  by  his  own  hand.  The  long  burden  of  responsi- 
bility had  been  too  much,  even  for  him  ;  though,  to  all 
appearance,  he  was  a  man  of  a  stronger  temperament  than 
Lord  Liverpool,  and  had,  indeed,  a  very  noble  aspect.  He 
should  have  led  a  private  life,  and  been  counted  one  of  the 
models  of  the  aristocracy  ;  for  though  a  ridiculous  speaker, 
and  a  cruel  politician  (out  of  patience  of  seeing  constant 
trouble,  and  not  knowing  otherwise  how  to  end  it),  he  was 
an  intelligent  and  kindly  man  in  private  life,  and  could  be 
superior  to  his  position  as  a  statesman.  He  delighted  in  the 
political  satire  of  the  Beggars'  Ojyera ;  has  been  seen 
applauding  it  from  a  stage  box ;  and  Lady  Morgan  tells  us, 
would  ask  her  in  company  to  play  him  the  songs  on  the 
piano-forte,  and  good-humoredly  accompany  them  with  a  bad 
voice.  How  pleasant  it  is  thus  to  find  one's  self  reconciled  to 
men  whom  we  have  ignorantly  undervalued  I  and  how  for- 
tunate to  have  lived  long  enough  to  say  so  I 


248  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

The  Examiner,  though  it  preferred  the  Whigs  to  the 
Tories,  was  not  a  Whig  of  the  school  then  existing.  Its 
great  object  was  a  reform  in  Parhament,  which  the  older 
and  more  influential  Whigs  did  not  advocate,  which  the 
younger  ones  (the  fathers  of  those  now  living)  advocated  but 
fitfully  and  misgivingly,  and  which  had  lately  been  sullered 
to  fall  entirely  into  the  hands  of  those  newer  and  more 
thorough-going  Whigs,  which  were  known  by  the  name  of 
Radicals,  and  have  since  been  called  Whig-Radicals,  and 
Liberals.  The  opinions  of  the  Examiner,  in  fact,  both  as 
to  State  and  Church  Government,  allowing,  of  course,  for 
difference  of  position  in  the  parties,  and  tone  in  their  mani- 
festation, Avcre  those  now  swaying  the  destinies  of  the  country, 
in  the  persons  of  Queen  Victoria  and  her  minister  Lord  John 
Russell.  I  do  not  presume  to  give  her  Majesty  the  name  of 
a  partisan  ;  or  to  imply  that,  under  any  circumstances,  she 
would  condescend  to  accept  it.  Her  business,  as  she  avcU 
knows  and  admirably  demonstrates,  is,  not  to  side  with  any 
of  the  disputants  among  her  children,  but  to  act  lovingly 
and  dispassionately  for  them  all,  as  circumstances  render 
expedient.  But  the  extraordinary  events  v/hich  took  place 
on  the  continent  during  her  childhood,  the  narrow  political 
views  of  most  of  her  immediate  predecessors,  her  own  finer 
and  more  genial  brain,  and  the  training  of  a  wise  mother, 
whose  family  appears  to  have  taken  healthy  draughts  of 
those  ample  and  fresh  fountains  of  German  literature  Avhich 
are  so  well  qualified  to  return  the  good  done  them  by  our 
own,  and  set  the  contracted  stream  of  English  thought  and 
nurture  flowing  again,  as  becomes  its  common  Saxon  origin 
— all  these  circumstances  in  combination  have  rendered  her 
what  no  prince  of  her  house  has  been  before  her — equal  to 
the  demands  not  only  of  the  nation  and  the  day,  but  of  the 
days  to  come,  and  the  popular  interests  of  the  world.  So, 
at  least,  I  conceive.  I  do  not  pretend  to  any  special  know- 
ledge of  the  court  or  its  advisers.  I  speak  from  what  I 
have  seen  of  her  Majesty's  readiness  to  fall  in  with  every 
great  and  liberal  measure  for  the  education  of  the  country, 
the  freedom  of  trade,  and  the  independence  of  nations  ;  and 
I  spoke  in  the  same  manner,  before  I  could  be  suspected  of 


REPUBLICS  AND  LIMITED  MONARCHIES.  249 

confounding  esteem  with  gratitude.  She  knows  how,  and 
nobly  dares,  to  let  the  reins  of  restriction  in  the  hands  of 
individuals  be  loosened  before  the  growing  strength  and  self- 
government  of  the  many  ;  and  the  royal  house  that  best 
knows  how  to  do  this,  and  neither  to  tighten  those  reins  iu 
anger  nor  abandon  them  out  of  fear,  will  be  the  last  house 
to  suffer  in  any  convulsion  which  others  may  provoke,  and 
the  first  to  be  re-assure<I  in  their  retention,  as  long  as  royalty 
shall  exist.  INIay  it  exist,  under  the  shape  in  which  I  can 
picture  it  to  my  imagination,  as  long  as  reasonableness  can 
outlive  envy,  and  ornament  be  known  to  be  one  of  nature's 
desires  I  Excess,  neither  of  riches  nor  poverty,  would  then 
endanger  it.  I  am  no  republican,  nor  ever  was,  though  I 
have  lived  during  a  period  of  history  when  kings  themselves 
tried  hard  to  make  honest  men  republicans  by  their  apparent 
unteachableness.  But  my  own  education,  the  love,  perhaps, 
of  poetic  ornament,  and  the  repulsiveness  of  a  republic  itself, 
even  of  British  origin,  with  its  huffing  manners,  its  frontless 
love  of  money,  and  its  slave-holding  abuse  of  its  very  freedom, 
kept  me  within  the  pale  of  the  loyal.  I  might  prefer,  per- 
haps, a  succession  of  queens  to  kings,  and  a  simple  fillet  on 
their  brows  to  the  most  gorgeous  diadem.  I  thinlc  that  men 
more  wilhngly  obey  the  one,  and  I  am  sure  that  nobody 
could  mistake  the  cost  of  the  other.  But  peaceful  and  reason- 
able provision  for  the  progress  of  mankind  toward  all  the 
good  possible  to  their  nature,  is  the  great  desideratum  in 
government ;  and  seeing  this  more  securely  and  handsomely 
maintained  in  limited  monarchies  than  republics,  I  am  for 
English  permanency  in  this  respect,  in  preference  to  French 
volatility,  and  American  slave-holding  utilitarianism. 

The  Tory  government  having  failed  in  its  two  attacks  on 
the  Eocumincr,  could  not  be  content,  for  any  length  of  time, 
till  it  had  failed  in  a  third.  For  such  was  the  case.  The 
new  charge  was  again  on  the  subject  of  the  army — that  of 
military  flogging.  An  excellent  article  on  the  absurd  and 
cruel  nature  of  that  punishment,  from  the  pen  of  the  late 
Mr.  John  Scott  (who  afterward  fell  in  a  duel  with  one  of 
the  writers  in  Blackwood),  had  appeared  in  a  country  paper, 
the  Stamford  jVeics,  of  which  he  was  editor.      The  most 

I.* 


250  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

striking  passages  of  this  article  were  copied  into  the  Exam- 
iner ;  and  it  is  a  remarkable  circumstance  in  the  history  of 
juries  that  after  the  journal  which  copied  it  had  been  ac- 
quitted in  London,  the  journal  which  originated  the  copied 
matter  was  found  guilty  in  Stamford  ;  and  this,  too,  though 
the  counsel  was  the  same  in  both  instances — the  present 
Lord  Brougham. 

The  attorney-general  at  that  time  was  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs ; 
a  name,  which  it  appears  somewhat  ludicrous  to  me  to  Avrite 
at  present,  considering  what  a  bug-bear  it  was  to  politicians, 
and  how  insignificant  it  has  since  become.      He  was  a  little, 
irritable,   sharp-featured,    bilious-looking   man    (so    at   least 
he  was  described,  for  I  never  saw  him)  ;  very  worthy,  I 
believe,   in  private  ;   and  said  to  be  so  fond  of  novels,  that 
he  would  read  them  after  the  labors  of  the  day,   till  the 
wax-lights  guttered  without  his  knowing  it.      I  had  a  secret 
reo^ard  for  him  on  this  account,  and  wished  he  would  not 
haunt  me  in  a  spirit  so  unlike  Tom  Jones.      I  know  not 
what  sort  of  lawyer  he  was  ;  probably  none  the  worse  for 
imbuing  himself  with  the  knowledge  of  "Fielding  and  Smol- 
lett ;  but   he  was   a  bad   reasoner,   and   made   half-witted 
charo-es.      He  used  those  edge-tools  of  accusation  which  cut 
a  man's  own  fingers.      He  assumed,  that  we  could  have  no 
motives  for  writing  but  mercenary  ones  ;    and  he  argued, 
that  because  Mr.  Scott  (who  had  no  more  regard  for  Bona- 
parte than  we  had)  endeavored  to  shame  down  the  practice 
of  military  flogging  by  pointing  to  the  disuse  of  it  in  the 
armies  of  France,  he   only  wanted  to   subject   his   native 
country  to  invasion.      He  also  had  the  simplicity  to  ask,  why 
we  did  not  "  speak  privately  on  the  subject  to  some  member 
of  Parliament,"  and  get  him  to  notice  it  in  a  proper  man- 
ner, instead  of  bringing  it  before  the  public  in  a  newspaper  ? 
We   laughed   at   him  ;    and  the   event   of  his   accusations 
enabled  us  to  laugh  more. 

The  charge  of  being  friends  of  Bonaparte  jjgainst  all  who 
differed  with  Lord  Castlereagh  and  Mr.  Canning  was  a 
common,  and,  ibr  too  long  a  time,  a  successful  trick,  with 
such  of  the  public  as  did  not  read  the  writings  of  the  persons 
accused.      I  have  often  been  surprised,  much  later  in  life, 


CHAKGE  OF  BEING  FRIENDS  OF  BONAPARTE.        251 

both  in.  relation  to  thi.s  and  other  charges,  at  the  credulity 
into  which  many  excellent  persons  had  owned  they  had  been 
thus  beguiled,  and  at  the  surprise  which  they  expressed  in 
turn  at  finding  the  charges  the  reverse  of  true.  To  the 
readers  of  the  Examine7\  they  caused  only  indignation  or 
merriment. 

The  last  and  most  formidable  prosecution  against  us  re- 
mains to  be  told  ;  but  some  intermediate  circumstances  must 
be  related  first. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

LITEKARY    WARFARE. 

The  Reflector  and  the  writers  in  it. — Feast  of  the  Poets. — Its  attack 
on  Giflford  for  his  attack  on  ]\Irs.  Robinson. — Character  of  Giffbrd 
and  his  writinfrs. — Specimens  of  the  Baviad  and  MtEviad. — His  ap- 
pearance at  the  RoxljurjTh  sale  of  books. — Attack  on  Walter  Scott, 
occasioned  by  a  passage  in  his  edition  of  Dryden. — Tory  calumny. 
— Quarrels  and  recriminations  of  authors. — The  writer's  present 
opinion  of  Sir  Walter. — General  ofTense  caused  by  the  Feast  of  the 
Poets. — Its  inconsiderate  treatment  of  Hayley. — Dinner  of  the  Prince 
Regent. — Holland  House  and  Lord  Holland. — Neutralization  of 
Whig  advocacy. — Recollections  of  Blanco  White. 

The  Examiner  had  been  established  about  three  years, 
when  my  brother  projected  a  quarterly  magazine  of  literature 
and  politics,  entitled  the  Rrjlcctor,  -which  I  edited.  Lamb, 
Dyer,  Barnes,  Mitchell,  the  present  Greek  Professor  Schole- 
field  (all  Christ-Hospital  men),  together  with  Dr.  Aikin  and 
his  family  wrote  in  it ;  and  it  was  rising  in  sale  every  quar- 
ter, when  it  stopped  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  number  for 
want  of  funds.  Its  termination  was  not  owing  to  want  of 
liberality  in  the  payments.  But  the  radical  reformers  in 
those  days  were  not  sufficiently  rich  or  numerous  to  support 
such  a  publication. 

Some  of  the  liveliest  efTusions  of  Lamb  first  appeared  in 
this  magazine  ;  and  in  order  that  I  might  retain  no  influen- 
tial class  for  my  good  wishers,  after  having  angered  the 
stage,  dissatisfied  the  Church,  ofiended  the  State,  not  very 
well  pleased  the  Whigs,  and  exasperated  the  Tories,  I 
must  needs  commence  the  maturer  part  of  my  verse-making 
with  contributing  to  its  pages  the  Feast  of  the  Poets. 

The  Feast  of  the  Poets  was  (perhaps,  I  may  say,  is)  a 
jcu-cVesprit  suggested  by  the  Session  of  the  Poets  of  Sir 
John  Suckling.     Apollo  gives  the  poets  a  dinner  ;  and  many 


GIFFORD  AND  THE  "QUARTERLY  REV'IEW."         253 

verse-makers,  who  have  no  claim  to  the  title,  present  them- 
selves, and  are  rejected. 

With  this  efiiision,  while  thinking  of  nothing  but  showing 
my  wit,  and  reposing  under  the  shadow  of  my  "  laurels"  (of 
which  I  expected  a  harvest  as  abundant  as  my  self-esteem),  I 
made  almost  every  living  poet  and  poetaster  my  enemy,  and 
particularly  exasperated  those  among  the  Tories.  I  speak 
of  the  shape  in  which  it  first  appeared,  before  time  and  re- 
flection had  moderated  its  judgment.  It  drew  upon  my 
head  all  the  personal  hostility  which  had  hitherto  been  held 
in  a  state  of  suspense  by  the  vaguer  daring  of  the  Exam- 
mei-;  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  its  inconsiderate,  and, 
I  am  bound  to  confess,  in  some  respects,  unwarrantable  levity, 
was  the  origin  of  the  gravest  and  far  less  warrantable  at- 
tacks which  I  afterward  sustained  from  political  antagonists, 
and  which  caused  the  most  serious  mischief  to  my  fortunes. 
Let  the  young  satirist  take  warning ;  and  consider  how  much 
self-love  he  is  going  to  wound,  by  the  indulgence  of  his  own. 

Not  that  I  have  to  apologize  to  the  memory  of  every  one 
whom  I  attacked.  I  am  sorry  to  have  had  occasion  to  differ 
with  any  of  my  fellow-creatures,  knowing  the  mistakes  to 
which  we  are  all  liable,  and  the  circumstances  that  help  to 
cause  them.  But  I  can  only  regret  it,  personally,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  worth  or  personal  regret  on  the  side  of  the 
enemy. 

The  Quarterly  Revieic,  for  mstance,  had  lately  been  set 
up,  and  its  editor  was  Giflbrd,  the  author  of  the  Baviad  and 
McBviad.  I  had  been  invited,  nay  pressed,  by  the  publisher 
to  write  in  the  new  revicAV  ;  which  surprised  me,  consider- 
ing its  politics  and  the  great  difference  of  my  own.  I  was 
not  aware  of  the  little  faith  that  was  held  in  the  politics  of 
any  beginner  of  the  world ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
invitation  had  been  made  at  the  instance  of  Giffbrd  himself, 
of  whom,  as  the  dictum  of  a  "  man  of  vigorous  learning," 
and  the  "first  satirist  of  his  time,"  I  had  quoted  in  the 
Critical  Essays  the  gentle  observation,  that  "  all  the  fools 
in  the  kingdom  seemed  to  have  risen  up  with  one  accord,  and 
exclaimed,  '  let  us  write  for  the  theatres  1'  " 

Strange  must  have  been  Giffbrd's  feelings,  when,  in  the 


""'4  LIFE  OF  LEFfJU   HUNT. 

Feast  of  the  Poets,  he  found  his  eulogizer  falhng  as  trench- 
antly on  the  author  of  the  Baviad  and  Mceviad  as  the 
Baviad  and  Mceviad  had  fallen  on  the  dramatists.  The 
Tory  editor  discerned  plainly  enough  that  if  a  man's  politics 
Avere  of  no  consideration  with  the  Quarterly  Revie2o,  pro- 
vided the  politician  was  his  critical  admirer,  they  were 
very  different  things  with  the  Editor  Pwadical.  He  found  also 
that  the  new  satirist  had  ceased  to  regard  the  old  one  as  a 
"critical  authority:"  and  he  might  not  have  unwarranta- 
bly concluded,  that  I  had  conceived  some  disgust  against 
him  as  a  man  ;  for  such,  indeed,  was  the  secret  of  my  attack. 

The  reader  is  perhaps  aware,  that  George  the  Fourth, 
when  he  was  Prince  of  Wales,  had  a  mistress  of  the  name 
of  Robinson.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  man  of  no  great  char- 
acter ;  had  taken  to  the  stage  for  a  livelihood  ;  was  very 
handsome,  wrote  verses,  and  is  said  to  have  excited  a  tender 
emotion  in  the  bosom  of  Charles  Fox.  The  Prince  allured 
her  from  the  stage,  and  lived  with  her  for  some  years.  After 
their  separation,  and  during  her  decline,  which  took  place 
before  she  was  old,  she  became  afflicted  with  rheumatism ; 
and  as  she  solaced  her  pains,  and  perhaps  added  to  her  sub- 
sistence, by  writing  verses,  and  as  her  verses  turned  upon 
her  affections,  and  she  could  not  discontinue  her  old  vein  of 
love  and  sentiment,  she  fell  under  the  lash  of  this  masculine 
and  gallant  gentleman,  Mr.  GiUbrd,  who,  in  his  Baviad  and 
Mceviad  amused  himself  with  tripping  up  her  "  crutches," 
particularly  as  he  thought  her  on  her  way  to  her  last  home. 
This  he  considered  the  climax  of  the  fun. 

"  See,"  exclaimed  he,  after  a  hit  or  two  at  other  women, 
like  a  boy  throwing  stones  in  the  street, 

"See  Robinson  forget  her  state,  and  move 
On  crutches  towWd  the  grave  to  '  Light  o'  Love.'  " 

This  is  the  passage  which  put  all  the  gall  into  any  thing 
which  I  said  then  or  afterward,  of  Gifford,  till  he  attacked 
myself  and  my  friends.  At  least  it  disposed  me  to  think  the 
worst  of  whatever  he  wrote  :  and  as  reflection  did  not  im- 
prove nor  suflbring  soften  him,  he  is  the  only  man  I  ever 
attacked,  respecting  whom  I  have  felt  no  regret. 


I 


THE  BAVIAD  AND  M^VIAD.  255 

It  wouid  be  easy  for  me  at  this  distance  of  time  to  own 
that  Gifibrd  possessed  genius,  had  such  been  the  case.  It 
would  have  been  easy  for  me  at  any  time.  But  he  had  not 
a  particle.  The  scourger  of  poetasters  was  himself  a  poet- 
aster. When  he  had  done  with  his  whip,  every  body  had 
a  right  to  take  it  up,  and  lay  it  over  the  scourger's  should- 
ers ;  for  though  he  had  sense  enough  to  discern  glaring  faults, 
he  abounded  in  commonplaces.  His  satire  itself,  which,  at 
its  best  never  went  beyond  smartness,  was  full  of  them. 

The  reader  shall  have  a  specimen  or  two,  in  order  that 
Mr.  Gifibrd  may  speak  for  himself;  for  his  book  has  long 
ceased  to  be  read.  He  shall  see  with  how  little  a  stock  of  his 
own  a  man  may  set  up  for  a  judge  of  others. 

The  Baviad  and  Maviad — so  called  from  two  bad  poets 
mentioned  by  Virgil — was  a  satire  imitated  from  Persius,  on 
a  set  of  fantastic  writers  who  had  made  their  appearance 
under  the  title  of  Delia  Cruscans.  The  coterie  originated 
in  the  meeting  of  some  of  them  at  Florence,  the  seat  of  the 
famous  Delia  Cruscan  Academy.  Mr.  Merry,  their  leader, 
who  was  a  member  of  that  academy,  and  who  wrote  under  its 
signature,  gave  occasion  to  the  name.  They  first  published 
a  collection  of  poerns,  called  the  Flwence  MisccllanTf,  and 
then  sent  verses  to  the  London  newspapers,  which  occasioned 
an  overfiow  of  contributions  in  the  like  taste.  The  taste 
was  as  bad  as  can  be  imagined  ;  full  of  floweriness,  conceits, 
and  aflectation  ;  and,  in  attempting  to  escape  from  common- 
place, it  evaporated  into  nonsense  : 

"  Was  it  the  shuttle  of  the  morn 
That  wove  upon  the  cobwebb'd  thorn 
Thy  airy  lay?" 

"  Hang  o'er  his  eye  the  gossamery  tear." 

"  Gauzy  zephyrs,  fluttering  o'er  the  plain, 
On  twilight's  bosom  drop  their  filmy  rain." 
&c.  &c. 

It  was  impossible  that  such  absurdities  could  have  had 
any  lasting  eficct  on  the  public  taste.  They  would  have 
died  of  inanition.  But  Mr.  Gilford,  finding  the  triumph 
easy  and  the  temptation  to  show  his  superiority  irresistible, 


256  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

chose  to  llilnk  otherwise  ;  and  hence  his  determination  to 
scourge  the  rogues  and  trample  on  their  imbecihty. 

The  female  portion  of  them  particularly  offended  him. 
The  first  name  he  mentions  is  that  of  Mrs.  Piozzi,  whose 
presumption  in  writing  books  he  se6med  to  consider  a  personal 
ofTense — as  though  he  represented  the  whole  dignity  and  in- 
dignation of  literature.  His  attack  on  her,  which  he  com- 
mences in  a  note,  opens  with  the  following  unconscious  satire 
on  himself; 

"  '  Though  no  one  better  knows  his  oivn  house'  than  I  the 
vanity  of  this  woman,  yet  the  idea  of  her  undertaking  such 
a  work"  (British  Synonimes)  "had  never  entered  my  head, 
and  I  was  thunderstruck  when  I  first  saw  it  announced." 

Mrs.  Piozzi  was,  perhaps,  as  incompetent  to  write  British 
Synonimes  as  Mr.  Gifibrd  to  write  poetry  ;  but  what  call 
had  he  to  be  oflended  with  the  mistake  ? 

His  satire  consists,  not  in  a  critical  exposure — in  showing 
why  the  objects  of  his  contempt  are  wrong — but  in  simply 
asiserting  that  they  are  so.  He  turns  a  commonplace  of  his 
own  in  his  verses,  quotes  a  passage  from  his  author  in  a 
note,  expresses  his  amazement  at  it,  and  thus  thinks  he  has 
proved  his  case,  when  he  has  made  out  nothing  but  an  over- 
weening assumption  at  the  expense  of  what  was  not  worth 
noticing.      "  I  was  horn,"  says  he, 

"  To  brand  obtrusive  ignorance  with  scorn. 
Oil  bloated  pedantry  to  ;}o«r  my  rage, 
And  Itiss  jyrcposlcrous  fustian  from  the  stage." 

What  commonplace  talking  is  that  ?     And  so  he  goes  on, 

"  Lo  !  Delia  Crusca  in  his  closet  pent, 
He  toils  to  give  the  crude  conceptions  vent. 
Abortive  thoughts,  that  right  and  wrong  confound, 
Truth  sacrificed  to  letters,  [why  'letters'?]  sense  to  sound; 
False  glare,  incongruous  images,  combine  ; 
And  noise  and  nonsense  clatter  through  the  line." 

What  is  the  example  of  writing  here  which  is  shown  to 
the  poor  Delia  Cruscans  ?  What  the  masterly  novelty  of 
style  or  imagery  ?  What  the  right  evinced  to  speak  in  the 
language  of  a  teacher  ?     Yet  Gi fiord  never  doubted  himself 


GIFFORD  A  POETASTER.  257 

on  these  points.  He  stood  uttering  his  didactic  nothings, 
as  if  other  Hterary  defaulters  were  but  so  many  chiUren, 
whom  it  taxed  his  condescension  to  instruct.  Here  is  some 
more  of  the  same  stuff : 

"  Then  let  your  style  be  brief,  your  meaning  clear, 
Nor,  like  Lorenzo  tire  the  laboring  ear 
With  a  wild  waste  of  words ;  sound  without  sense, 
And  all  the  florid  glare  of  impotence. 
Still,  with  your  characters,  your  language  change, 
From  grave  to  gay,  as  nature  dictates,  range  : 
Now  droop  in  all  the  plaintiveness  of  woe,  (!  !) 
Now  in  glad  numbers  light  and  airy  flow; 
Now  shake  the  stage  with  guilt's  alarming  tone,  (!  !) 
And  make  the  aching  bosom  all  your  own." 

Was  there  ever  a  fonder  set  of  complacent  old  phrases, 
such  as  any  schoolboy  might  utter  ?  Yet  this  is  the  man 
who  undertook  to  despise  Charles  Lamb,  and  to  trample  on 
Keats  and  Shelley. 

I  have  mentioned  the  K-oxburgh  sale  of  books.  I  was 
standing  among  the  bidders  with  my  friend  the  late  Mr. 
Barron  Field,  when  he  jogged  my  elbow,  and  said,  "  There 
is  Gifford  over  the  Avay,  looking  at  you  with  such  a  face  I" 
I  met  the  eyes  of  my  beholder,  and  saw  a  little  man,  with  a 
warped  frame  and  a  countenance  between  the  querulous  and 
the  angry,  gazing  at  me  with  all  his  might.  It  was,  truly 
enough,  the  satirist  Avho  could  not  bear  to  be  satirized — the 
denouncer  of  incompetencies,  who  could  not  bear  to  be  told 
of  his  own.  He  had  now  learnt,  as  I  was  myself  to  learn, 
what  it  was  to  taste  of  his  own  bitter  medicaments  ;  and  he 
never  profited  by  it ;  for  his  Review  spared  neither  age  nor 
sex  as  long  as  he  lived.  What  he  did  at  first,  out  of  a  self- 
satisfied  incompetence,  he  did  at  last  out  of  an  envious  and 
angry  one  ;  and  he  was,  all  the  while,  the  humble  servant 
of  power,  and  never  expressed  one  word  of  regret  for  his 
inhumanity.  This  mixture  of  implacability  and  servility  is 
the  sole  reason,  as  I  have  said  before,  why  I  still  speak  of 
him  as  I  do.  If  he  secretly  felt  regret  for  it,  I  am  sorry — 
especially  if  he  retained  any  love  for  his  "  Anna,"  whom  I 
take  to  have  been  not  only  the  good  servant  and  friend  he 
describes  her,  but  such  a  one  as  he  could  wish  that  he  had 


258  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

married.  Why  did  he  not  marry  her,  ami  remain  a  hum- 
bler and  a  happier  man  ?  or  how  was  it,  that  the  power  to 
have  any  love  at  all  could  not  teach  him  that  other  people 
might  have  feelings  as  well  as  himself,  especially  women  and 
the  sick  ? 

Such  were  the  causes  of  my  disfavor  with  the  Tory  critics 
in  England. 

To  those  in  Scotland  I  gave,  in  like  manner,  the  first 
cause  of  oflense,  and  they  had  better  right  to  complain  of 
me  ;  though  they  ended,  as  far  as  regards  the  mode  of  re- 
sentment, in  being  still  more  in  the  wrong.  I  had  taken  a 
dislike  to  Walter  Scott,  on  account  of  a  solitary  passage  in 
his  edition  of  Dryden — nay,  on  account  of  a  single  word. 
The  word,  it  must  be  allowed,  was  an  extraorduiary  one, 
and  such  as  he  must  have  regretted  writing  :  for  a  more 
dastardly  or  deliberate  piece  of  wickedness  than  allowing  a 
ship  with  its  crew  to  go  to  sea,  knowing  the  vessel  to  be 
leaky,  believing  it  likely  to  founder,  and  on  purpose  to  destroy 
one  of  the  passengers,  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive ;  yet, 
because  this  was  done  by  a  Tory  king,  the  relater  could  find 
no  severer  term  for  it  than  "  ungenerous."  Here  is  the 
passage  : 

"  His  political  principles  (the  Earl  of  Mulgrave's)  were  those  of  a 
stanch  Tory,  which  he  maintained  through  his  whole  life ;  and  he  was 
zealous  for  the  royal  prerogative,  although  he  had  no  small  reason  to 
complain  of  Charles  the  Second,  who,  to  avenge  himself  of  Mulgrave. 
for  a  supposed  attachment  to  the  Princess  Anne,  sent  him  to  Tangiersj 
at  the  head  of  some  troops,  in  a  leaky  vessel,  which  it  was  supposed 
must  have  perished  in  the  voyage.  Though  Mulgrave  was  apprized  of 
the  danger,  he  scorned  to  shun  it ;  and  the  Earl  of  Plymouth,  a  favor- 
ite son  of  the  king,  generously  insisted  upon  sharing  it  along  with  hira. 
This  ungenerous  attempt  to  destroy  him  in  the  very  act  of  perform- 
ing his  duty,  with  the  refusal  of  a  regiment,  made  a  temporary  change 
in  Mulgrave's  conduct." — Notes  on  Absalom  and  Achilophel  in  Dry. 
den's  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  304. 

This  passage  was  the  reason  why  the  future  great  novelist 
was  introduced  to  Apollo,  in  the  Feast  of  the  Poets,  after  a 
very  irreverent  fashion. 

I  believe,  that  with  reference  to  high  standards  of  poetry 
and  criticism,  superior  to  mere  description,  however  lively, 


INJUSTICE  OF  ATTRIBUTLXn  BAD  MOTIVES.  259 

to  the  demands  of  rhyme  for  its  own  sake,  to  prosaical 
groundworks  of  style,  metaphors  of  common  property,  con- 
ventionalities in  general,  and  the  prevalence  of  a  material 
over  a  spiritual  treatment,  my  estimate  of  Walter  Scott's 
then  publications,  making  allowance  for  the  manner  of  it, 
will  still  be  found  not  far  from  the  truth,  by  those  who  have 
profited  by  a  more  advanced  age  of  assthetical  culture. 

There  is  as  much  difference,  for  instance,  poetically  speak- 
ing, between  Coleridge's  brief  poem,  Christabel,  and  all  the 
narrative  poems  of  Walter  Scott,  or,  as  Wordsworth  called 
them,  "  novels  in  verse,"  as  between  a  precious  essence  and 
a  coarse  imitation  of  it,  got  up  for  sale.  Indeed,  Coleridge, 
not  unnaturally,  though  not  with  entire  reason  (for  the  story 
and  the  characters  were  the  real  charnj),  lamented  that  an 
endeavor,  unavowed,  had  been  made  to  catch  his  tone,  and 
had  succeeded  just  far  enough  to  recommend  to  unbounded 
popularity  what  had  nothing  in  common  with  it. 

But  though  Walter  Scott  was  no  novelist  at  that  time, 
except  in  verse,  the  tone  of  personal  assumption  toward  him 
in  the  Feast  of  the  Poets  formed  a  just  ground  of  offense. 
Not  that  I  had  not  as  much  right  to  differ  with  any  man 
on  any  subject,  as  he  had  to  differ  with  others  ;  but  it  would 
have  become  me,  especially  at  that  time  of  life,  and  in 
speaking  of  a  living  person,  to  express  the  difference  with 
modesty.  I  ought  to  have  taken  care  also  not  to  fall  into 
one  of  the  very  prejudices  I  was  reproving,  and  think  ill  or 
well  of  people  in  proportion  as  they  differed  or  agreed  with 
me  in  politics.  Walter  Scott  saw  the  good  of  mankind 
in  a  Tory  or  retrospective  point  of  view.  I  saw  it  from  a 
Whig,  a  Radical,  or  prospective  one  ;  and  though  I  still 
think  he  was  mistaken,  and  though  circumstances  have 
shown  that  the  world  think  so  too,  I  ought  to  have  dis- 
covered, even  by  the  writings  which  I  condemned,  that  he 
was  a  man  of  a  kindly  nature  ;  and  it  would  have  become 
me  to  have  given  him  credit  for  the  same  good  motiveS; 
which  I  arrogated  exclusively  for  my  own  side  of  the  question. 
It  is  true,  it  might  be  supposed,  that  I  should  have  advo- 
cated that  side  with  less  ardor,  had  I  been  more  temperate 
in  this  kind  of  judgment  ;   but  I  do  not  think  so.      Or  if  I 


260 


LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 


hod,  the  Avant  of  ardor  would  probably  have  been  com- 
pensated by  the  presence  of  qualities,  the  absence  of  Avhich 
was  injurious  to  its  good  eflect.  At  all  events,  I  am  now 
of  opinion,  that  whatever  rnay  be  the  immediate  impression, 
a  cause  is  advocated  to  the  most  permanent  advantage  by 
persuasive,  instead  of  provoking  manners  ;  and  certain  I  am, 
that  whether  this  be  the  case  or  not,  no  human  being,  be  he 
the  best  and  wisest  of  his  kind,  much  less  a  confident  young 
man,  can  be  so  sure  of  the  result  of  his  confidence,  as  to 
Avarrant  the  substitution  of  his  will  and  pleasure  in  that 
direction,  for  the  charity  which  befits  his  common  modesty 
and  his  participation  of  error. 

Tt  is  impossible  for  me,  in  other  respects,  to  regret  the 
war  I  had  with  the  Tories.  I  rejoice  in  it  as  far  as  I  can 
rejoice  at  any  thing  painful  to  myself  and  others,  and  I  am 
paid  for  the  consequences  in  what  I  have  lived  to  see  ;  nay, 
in  the  respect  and  regrets  of  the  best  of  my  enemies.  But 
I  am  sorry,  that  in  aiming  wounds  which  I  had  no  right  to 
give,  I  can  not  deny  that  I  brought  on  myself  others  which 
they  had  still  less  right  to  inflict ;  and  I  make  the  amends 
of  this  confession,  not  only  in  return  for  what  they  have 
expressed  themselves,  but  in  justice  to  the  feelings  which 
honest  men  of  all  parties  experience  as  they  advance  in  life, 
and  when  they  look  back  calmly  upon  their  common  errors. 

"  I  shall  put  this  book  in  my  pocket,"  said  Walter  Scott 
to  Murray,  after  he  had  been  standing  a  while  at  his  counter, 
reading  the  Storij  of  Rimini. 

"  Pray  do,"  said  the  publisher.  The  copy  of  the  book 
was  set  down  to  the  author  in  the  bookseller's  account,  as  a 
present  to  Walter  Scott.  Walter  Scott  was  beloved  by  his 
friends  ;  the  author  of  the  Story  of  Rimini  was  an  old 
ofTender,  personal  as  well  as  political ;  and  hence  the  fury 
with  which  they  fell  on  him  in  their  new  publication. 

GifTord,  in  his  Baviad  and  Mceviad,  speaking  of  a  daily 
paper  called  the  World,  had  said,  "  In  this  paper  Avere 
given  the  earhest  specimens  of  those  unqualified  and  auda- 
cious attacks  on  all  private  character,  which  the  town  first 
railed  at  for  their  quaintnoss,  then  tolerated  for  their  absurd- 
ity, and  now  that  other  papers,  equally  wicked  and  more 


ATTACKS  ON  PRIVATE  LIFE.  261 

intelligible,  have  ventured  to  imitate  it,  will  have  to  lament 
to  the  last  hour  of  British  liberty." 

This  close  of  Gifibrd's  remark  is  one  of  his  commonplaces 
— a  conventional  cadence  and  turn  of  words.  Calumny  has 
been  out  of  fashion  for  some  time.  But  the  example  he 
speaks  of  was  infectious  in  those  days  ;  and  curiously  enough, 
it  was  destined  to  be  followed  up,  and  carried  to  excess,  by 
his  own  side  of  the  question.  It  is  to  the  honor  of  the  Whigs 
and  Pv-adicals,  that  they  went  to  no  such  extremities,  even 
during  the  height  of  the  warfare.  The  Priestleys,  Aikins, 
and  Gilbert  Wakefields,  were  in  too  philosophic  and  suflering 
a  minority  for  it ;  Montgomery  the  poet  (who  edited  the 
Slieffield  Iris),  had  too  much  religion  for  it;  Cobbett,  with 
all  his  virulence,  appears  never  to  have  thought  of  it  ;  Haz- 
litt,  though  his  portrait-painting  tempted  him  into  mmor  per- 
sonalities, disdained  it ;  and  all  the  notice  (as  far  as  I  am 
aware)  which  any  liberal  journal  took  of  matters  of  private 
life,  the  Examiner  included,  was  confined  to  circumstances 
that  were  forced  on  the  public  attention  by  their  connection 
with  matters  of  state ;  as  in  the  i.nstances  of  the  Duke  of 
York's  mistress,  who  trafficked  in  commissions,  and  of  poor 
foolish  Queen  Caroline,  who  was  victimized  by  an  unworthy 
husband. 

Every  party  has  a  right  side  and  a  wrong.  The  right 
side  of  Whiggism,  Radicalism,  or  the  love  of  liberty,  is  the 
love  of  justice  ;  the  wish  to  see  fair-play  to  all  men,  and  the 
advancement  of  knowledge  and  competence.  The  wrong 
side  is  the  wish  to  pull  down  those  above  us,  instead  of  the 
desire  of  raising  those  who  are  below.  The  right  side  of 
Toryism  is  the  love  of  order,  and  the  disposition  to  reverence 
and  personal  attachment ;  the  wrong  side  is  the  love  of  power 
for  power's  sake,  and  the  determination  to  maintain  it  in  the 
teeth  of  all  that  is  reasonable  and  humane.  A  strong  spice 
of  superstition,  generated  by  the  habit  of  success,  tended  to 
confuse  the  right  and  wrong  sides  of  Toryism,  in  minds  not 
otherwise  unjust  or  ungenerous.  They  seemed  to  imagine, 
that  heaven  and  earth  would  "come  together,"  if  the  supposed 
favorites  of  Providence  were  to  be  considered  as  favorites  no 
longer  ;   and  hence  the  unbounded  license  which  they  gave  to 


262  LIFE  OF  LCIGII  HUNT. 

their  resentment,  and  the  strange  self-permission  of  a  man 
like  Walter  Scott,  not  only  to  lament  over  the  progress  of 
society,  as  if  the  future  had  been  ordained  only  to  carry  on 
the  past,  but  to  countenance  the  border-like  forages  of  his 
friends  into  provinces  Avhich  they  had  no  business  to  invade, 
and  to  speculate  upon  still  greater  organizations  of  them 
whioh  circumstances,  luckily  for  his  fame,  prevented.  I  al- 
lude to  the  intended  establishment  of  a  journal,  which,  as  it 
never  existed,  it  is  no  longer  necessary  to  name. 

E-eaders  in  these  kindlier  days  of  criticism  have  no  con- 
ception of  the  extent  to  vi'hich  personal  hostility  allowed  it- 
self tp  be  transported,  in  the  periodicals  of  those  times.  Per- 
sonal habits,  appearances,  connections,  domesticities,  nothing 
was  safe  from  misrepresentations,  begun  perhaps  in  the  gayety 
of  a  saturnalian  license,  but  gradually  carried  to  an  excess 
which  would  have  been  ludicrous,  had  it  not  sometimes  pro- 
duced tragical  consequences.  It  threatened  a  great  many 
more,  and  scattered,  meantime,  a  great  deal  of  wretchedness 
among  unoflending  as  well  as  offending  persons,  sometimes 
in  proportion  to  the  delicacy  which  hindered  them  from  ex- 
culpating themselves,  and  which  could  only  have  vindicated 
one  portion  of  a  family  by  sacrificing  another.  I  was  so 
caricatured,  it  seems,  among  the  rest,  upon  matters  great 
and  small  (for  I  did  not  see  a  tenth  part  of  what  was  said 
of  me),  that  persons,  on  subsequently  becoming  acquainted 
with  me,  sometimes  expressed  their  surprise  at  finding  me 
no  other  than  I  was  in  face,  dress,  manners,  and  very  walk  ; 
to  say  nothing  of  the  conjugality  which  they  found  at  my 
fireside,  and  the  afi^ection  which  I  had  the  happiness  of  en- 
joying among  my  friends  in  general.  I  never  retaliated  in 
the  same  way  ;  first,  because  I  had  never  been  taught  to 
respect  it,  even  by  the  jests  of  Aristophanes  ;  secondly,  be- 
cause I  observed  the  sorrow  it  caused  both  to  right  and 
wrong  ;  thirdly,  because  it  is  impossible  to  know  the  truth 
of  any  story  if  related  of  a  person,  without  hearing  all  the 
parties  concerned  ;  and  fourthly,  because,  while  people  thought 
me  busy  with  politics  and  contention,  I  was  almost  always 
absorbed  in  my  books  and  verses,  and  did  not,  perhaps  suf- 
ficiently consider  the  worldly  consequences  of  the  indulgence 


CHARACTER  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.  263 

The  quarrels  of  authors,  and  the  scandals  which  they  have 
caused  one  another,  were,  unfortunately  not  new  to  the 
readin.g  part  of  the  public,  though  the  tone  of  hostility  had 
hardly  before  been  exceeded,  except  iu  religious  controversy, 
and  in  the  disputes  between  some  of  the  early  writers  of  Italy. 
"  The  life  of  a  wit,"  said  Steele,  "  is  a  warfare  upon  earth." 
He  himself  was  called  by  an  enemy,  the  "  vilest  of  mankind  ;" 
upon  which  he  said,  in  the  gayety  of  an  honest  heart,  that 
"it  would  be  a  glorious  world  if  he  was."  Even  Steele, 
so  exasperating  is  this  kind  of  warfare,  allowed  himself  to  be 
provoked  into  personalities.  Swift  abounded  in  it,  though 
he  lived  in  one  of  the  most  perilous  of  "  glass-houses,"  and 
miraculously  escaped  retribution  ;  probably  from  the  very 
pity  which  he  denied.  But  why  multiply  examples  on  this 
painful  subject  ?  Clarke  and  Cudworth  have  been  called 
"  atheists";  and  Fenelon,  who  was  "  only  a  little  lower  than 
the  a'^gels,"  a  "ferocious  brute  I"  I  do  not  pretend  to  com- 
pare layself  with  the  least  of  such  men  ;  and  I  am  willing 
to  have  paid  the  penalty  of  what  was  really  faulty  in  me,  in 
sufiering  for  what  was  not :  but  as  T  do  not  claim  to  be  con- 
sidered better  than  my  neighbors,  or  to  have  been  so  at  any 
time,  so  I  may  be  allowed  to  comfort  myself  with  thinking  I 
am  no  worse.  T  may  even  presume  so  far  in  copying  the 
jovial  self-reconcilement  of  Steele,  as  to  believe  that  the 
world  would  be  no  very  great  vale  of  tears,  if  all  the  men  in 
it  were  no  worse  di.sposed. 

If  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  a  poet  of  a  purely  conventional 
order,  warmed  with  a  taste  for  old  books,  and  if  he  was  a 
critic  more  agreeable  than  subtle,  and  a  bitter  and  not  very 
large-minded  politician,  unwilling,  and  perhaps  unable  to 
turn  his  eyes  from  the  past  to  the  future,  and  to  look  with 
patience  on  the  prospects  of  the  many,  he  was  a  man  of 
singular  and  admirable  genius  in  the  points  in  which  he 
excelled,  great  in  some  respects,  and  charming  almost  in  all. 
I  beg  leave  to  think  that  he  did  not  possess  that  attribute  of 
genius,  which  is  said  to  partake  of  the  feminine  as  well  as  the 
masculine  ;  if  feminine  only  it  be  to  excel  in  sweet  as  well  as 
strong,  to  be  musical  and  graceful,  and  be  able  to  paint  M'omen 
themselves ;  and  I  will  not  do  such  discredit  to  his  memory. 


261  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

in  this  or  in  any  masculine  respect,  as  to  repeat  the  compari- 
sons of  him  with  Shakspeare,  who  painted  both  women  and 
men  to  admiration,  and  Avas  a  great  poet,  and  a  profound 
universahst,  and  excelled  as  much  in  nature  as  in  manners  ; 
for  certainly  Scott  was  in  all  these  respects  (and  rare  is  the 
excellence  that  can  be  put  even  to  such  a  disadvantage)  but 
a  half,  or  eveiv  a  third  or  fourth  kind  of  Shakspeare,  with  all 
the  poetry  (so  to  speak)  taken  out  of  him,  and  all  the  expres- 
sion and  the  quotability  besides  ;  Sir  Walter  being,  perhaps, 
the  least  quotable  for  sententiousness  or  wit,  or  any  other 
memorable  brevity,  in  the  whole  circle  of  illustrious  writers. 
But  he  M'as  an  agreeable  and  kindly  biographer,  a  most  en- 
tertaining selector  from  history,  an  exquisite  antiquary,  a 
charming  companion,  a  warm  hearted  friend,  a  good  father, 
husband,  and  man  ;  and  though  his  novels,  as  works  of  art 
and  style,  were  inferior  to  Fielding,  and  I  think  it  was  a 
want  of  imagination  in  him,  and  a  self-abasement,  to  wish 
to  build  a  great  house  and  be  a  feudal  lord,  instead  of  being 
content  to  write  about  houses  and  lords,  and  living  among 
us  all  to  this  day  in  a  cottage  that  still  would  have  been  a 
shrine  for  princes  to  visit  ;  yet,  assuredly,  he  was  the  most 
wonderful  combiner  of  the  novel  and  romance  that  ever  ex- 
isted. He  was  Shakspearian  in  the  abundance  and  variety 
of  his  characters,  unsurpassed,  if  ever  equaled,  in  the  sub- 
stantial flow  of  his  pen  ;  and  in  spite  of  admirable  Burns 
and  delightful  Thomson,  and  all  the  historical  and  philosoph- 
ical names  of  Edinburgh  during  the  last  and  present  century, 
was  upon  the  whole  the  greatest  writer  that  Scotland  has 
produced. 

It  can  be  of  no  consequence  to  the  memory  of  such  a  man 
what  I  said  or  thought  of  him,  whether  before  his  death  or 
after ;  but  for  my  own  sake,  since  I  am  forced  to  speak  of 
such  things  in  a  work  like  the  present,  I  may  be  allowed  to 
state,  that  whatever  hostility  I  was  forced  to  maintain  with 
his  politics,  and  so  far  with  himself,  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
expressing  my  regret  for  the  mistakes  which  I  had  made 
about  him,  long  before  I  experienced  their  ill  eflects.  I 
will  add,  that  long  after  those  eflects,  and  when  he  M'as 
lying  sick  in  London  on  his  way  to  his  last  home,  I  called 


AUTHOR'S  FEELINGS  WITH  REGARD  TO  SCOTT.      265 

every  morning  at  his  door  (anonymously  ;  for  I  doubted 
whether  my  name  would  please  him)  to  furnish  a  respectful 
bulletin  of  his  health  to  a  daily  paper,  in  which  I  suggested 
its  appearance  ;  and  I  will  not  conceal,  that  as  I  loved  the 
humanities  in  his  wonderful  pages,  in  spite  of  the  politics 
which  accompanied  them,  so  I  mourned  for  his  closing  days, 
and  shed  tears  at  his  death. 

To  return  to  the  Feast  of  the  Poets.  I  offended  all  the 
critics  of  the  old  or  French  school,  by  objecting  to  the  mo- 
notony of  Pope's  versification,  and  all  the  critics  of  the  new 
or  German  school,  by  laughing  at  Wordsworth,  with  whose 
writings  I  was  then  unacquainted,  except  through  the  medium 
of  his  deriders.  On  reading  him  for  myself,  I  became  such 
an  admirer,  that  Lord  Byron  accused  me  of  making  him 
popular  upon  town.  I  had  not  very  well  pleased  Lord 
Byron  himself,  by  counting  him  inferior  to  Wordsworth. 
Indeed,  I  ofiended  almost  every  body  whom  I  noticed ;  some 
by  finding  any  fault  at  all  with  them  ;  some,  by  not  praising 
them  on  their  favorite  points  ;  some,  by  praising  others  on 
any  point ;  and  some,  I  am  afraid,  and  those  among  the 
most  good-natured,  by  needlessly  bringing  them  on  the 
carpet,  and  turning  their  very  good-nature  into  a  subject  for 
caricature.  Thus  I  introduced  Mr.  Hayley,  whom  I  need 
not  have  noticed  at  all,  as  he  belonged  to  a  by-gone  genera- 
tion. He  had  been  brought  up  in  the  courtesies  of  the  old 
school  of  manners,  which  he  ultra-polished  and  rendered 
caressing,  after  the  fashion  of  my  Arcadian  friends  of  Italy  ; 
and  as  the  poetry  of  the  Triumphs  of  Temper  was  not  as 
vigorous  in  style  as  it  was  amiable  in  its  moral  and  elegant 
in  point  of  fancy,  I  chose  to  sink  his  fancy  and  his  amiable- 
ness,  and  to  represent  him  as  nothing  but  an  efleminate 
parader  of  phrases  of  endearment  and  pickthank  adulation. 
I  looked  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  powder-puff  of  a  man,  with 
no  real  manhood  in  him,  but  fit  only  to  suflbcate  people  with 
his  frivolous  vanity,  and  be  struck  aside  with  contempt.  I 
had  not  yet  learned,  that  writers  may  be  very  "strong" 
and  huffing  on  paper,  while  feeble  on  other  points,  and,  vice 
versa,  weak  in  their  metres,  while  they  are  strong  enough 
as   regards   muscle.      I   remember  my  astonishment,  years 

VOL  I  — M 


266  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

afterward,  on  liuding  that  the  "  gentle  Mr.  Hayley,"  whom 
I  had  taken  for 

"  A  puny  insect,  shivering  at  a  breeze," 

was  a  strong-built  man,  famous  for  walking  in  the  snow 
before  daylight,  and  possessed  of  an  intrepidity  as  a  horse- 
man amounting  to  the  reckless.  It  is  not  improbable,  that 
the  feeble  Hayley,  during  one  of  his  equestrian  passes,  could 
have  snatched  up  the  "  vigorous"  Giflord,  and  pitched  him 
over  the  hedge  into  the  next  field. 

Having  thus  secured  the  enmity  of  the  Tory  critics  north 
and  south,  and  the  indillerence  (to  say  the  least  of  it)  of  the 
gentlest  lookers  on,  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  better  part  of  my 
impulses,  to  lose  me  the  only  counteracting  influence  which 
was  offered  me  in  the  friendship  of  the  Whigs.  I  had  par- 
taken deeply  of  Whig  indignation  at  the  desertion  of  their 
party  by  the  Prince  Regent.  The  Reflector  contained  an 
article  on  his  Royal  Highness,  bitter  accordingly,  which 
bantered,  among  other  absurdities,  a  famous  dinner  given  by 
him  to  "  one  hundred  and  fifty  particular  frieiids."  There 
was  a  real  stream  of  water  running  down  the  table  at  this 
dinner,  stocked  with  gold  fish.  It  had  banks  of  moss  and 
bridges  of  pasteboard ;  the  salt-cellars  were  panniers  borne 
by  "  golden-asses  ;"  every  thing,  in  short,  was  as  unlike  the 
dinners  now  given  by  the  sovereign,  in  point  of  taste  and 
good  sense,  as  efTeminacy  is  different  from  womanhood ;  and 
the  Rejlector  in  a  parody  of  the  complaint  of  the  shepherd, 
described  how 

"Despairing,  beside  a  clear  stream, 
The  bust  of  a  cod-fish  was  laid ; 
And  while  a  false  taste  wa.-*  his  theme, 
A  drainer  supported  his  head." 

A  day  or  two  after  the  appearance  of  this  article,  I  met 
in  the  street  the  late  estimable  Blanco  White,  whom  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  being  acquainted  with.  He  told  me  of  the 
amusement  it  had  given  at  Holland  House  ;  and  added  that 
Lord  Holland  would  be  glad  to  see  me  among  his  friends 
there,  and  that  he  (Blanco  White)  was  commissioned  to 
Bay  so. 


INVITATION  TO  HOLLAND  HOUSE.  26? 

I  did  not  doubt  for  an  instant,  that  any  thing  but  the 
most  disinterested  kindness  and  good-nature  dictated  the  in- 
vitation which  was  thus  made  me.  It  was  impossible,  at 
any  future  time,  that  I  could  speak  with  greater  respect  and 
admiration  of  his  lordship,  than  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing  already.  Never  had  an  unconstitutional  or  illiberal 
measure  taken  place  in  the  House  of  Lords,  but  his  protest 
was  sure  to  appear  against  it ;  and  this,  and  his  elegant  litera- 
ture and  reputation  for  hospitality,  had  completely  won  my 
heart.  At  the  same  time,  I  did  not  look  upon  the  invitation 
as  any  return  for  this  enthusiasm.  I  considered  his  lordship 
(and  now  at  this  moment  consider  him)  as  having  been  as  free 
from  every  personal  motive  as  myself;  and  this  absence  of 
all  suspicion,  prospective  or  retrospective,  enabled  me  to  feel 
the  more  confident  and  consoled  in  the  answer  which  I 
felt  bound  to  make  to  his  courtesy. 

I  said  to  Mr.  Blanco  White,  that  I  could  not  sufficiently 
express  my  sense  of  the  honor  that  his  lordship  was  pleased 
to  do  me  ;  that  there  was  not  a  man  in  England  at  whose 
table  I  should  be  prouder  or  happier  to  sit ;  that  I  was 
fortunate  in  having  a  conveyer  of  the  invitation,  who  would 
know  how  to  believe  what  I  said,  and  to  make  a  true  rep- 
resentation of  it ;  and  that  with  almost  any  other  person,  1 
should  fear  to  be  thought  guilty  of  immodesty  and  presump- 
tion, in  not  hastening  to  avail  myself  of  so  great  a  kindness ; 
but  that  the  more  I  admired  and  loved  the  character  of  Lord 
Holland,  the  less  I  dared  to  become  personally  acquainted 
with  him  ;  that  being  a  far  weaker  person  than  he  gave  mo 
credit  for  being,  it  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  eat  the  mut- 
ton and  drink  the  claret  of  such  a  man,  without  falling  into 
any  opinion  into  which  his  conscience  might  induce  him  to 
lead  me  ;  and  that  not  having  a  single  personal  acquaint- 
ance, even  among  what  was  called  my  own  party  (the  Rad- 
icals), his  lordship's  goodness  would  be  the  more  easily 
enabled  to  put  its  kindest  and  most  indulgent  construction  on 
the  misfortune  which  I  was  obliged  to  undergo,  in  denying 
myself  the  delight  of  his  society. 

I  do  not  say  that  these  were  the  very  words,  but  they 
convey  the  spirit  of  what  I  said  to  Mr.  Blanco  White;  and 


268  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

I  should  not  have  doubted  his  giving  them  a  correct  report, 
even  had  no  evidence  of'it  folloAved.  But  there  did  ;  for  Lord 
Holland  courteously  sent  me  his  publications,  and  never  ceased, 
while  he  lived,  to  show  me  all  the  kindness  in  his  power. 

Of  high  life  in  ordinary,  it  is  little  for  me  to  say  that  I 
might  have  had  a  surfeit  of  it,  if  I  pleased.  Circumstances, 
had  I  given  way  to  them,  might  have  rendered  half  my  ex- 
istence a  round  of  it.  I  might  also  have  partaken  no  mean 
portion  of  high  life  extraordinary.  And  very  charming  is 
its  mixture  of  softness  and  strength,  of  the  manliness  of  its 
taste  and  the  urbanity  of  its  intercourse.  I  have  tasted,  if 
not  much  of  it,  yet  some  of  its  very  essence,  and  I  cherish,  and 
am  grateful  for  it  at  this  moment.  What  I  have  said,  there 
fore,  of  Holland  House,  is  mentioned  under  no  feelings,  cither 
of  assumption  or  servility.  The  invitation  Avas  made,  and 
declined,  with  an  equal  spirit  of  faith  on  both  sides  in  far 
better  impulses. 

Far,  therefore,  am  I  from  supposing,  that  the  silence  of 
the  Whig  critics  respecting  me  was  owing  to  any  hostile  in- 
fluence which  Lord  Holland  would  have  condescended  to 
exercise.  Not  being  among  the  visitors  at  Holland  House, 
I  dare  say  I  was  not  thought  of;  or  if  I  was  thought  of  I 
was  regarded  as  a  person  who,  in  shunning  Whig  connec- 
tion, and,  perhaps,  in  persisting  to  advocate  a  reform  toward 
which  they  were  cooling,  might  be  supposed  indifferent  to 
Whig  advocacy.  And,  indeed,  such  was  the  case,  till  J 
felt  the  want  of  it. 

Accordingly  the  Edinhurgh  Revieiv  took  no  notice  of  the 
Feast  of  the  Poets,  though  my  verses  praised  it  at  the 
expense  of  the  Quarterly,  and  though  some  of  the  reviewers, 
to  my  knowledge,  liked  it,  and  it  echoed  the  opinions  of 
others.  It  took  no  notice  of  the  pamphlet  on  the  Folly  aiid 
Danger  of  Methodism,  though  the  opinions  in  it  were,  per- 
haps, identical  with  its  own.  And  it  took  as  little  of  the 
Reformist's  Ansiver  to  an  Article  in  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view— a  pamphlet  which  I  wrote  in  defense  of  it  own  ra 
forming  principles,  which  it  had  lately  taken  it  into  its  head 
to  renounce  as  impracticable.  Reform  had  been  apparently 
given  up  for  ever  by  its  originators  ;   the  Tories  were  in- 


REUOLLEUTIONS  OF  BLANCO  WHITE.  269 

creasing  in  strength  every  day  ;  and  I  Avas  left  to  battle 
with  them  as  I  could.  Little  did  I  suppose,  that  a  time 
would  come  when  I  should  be  an  Edinburgh  reviewer  my- 
self; when  its  former  editor,  agreeably  to  the  dictates  of  his 
heart,  would  be  one  of  the  kindest  of  my  friends ;  and  when 
a  cadet  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  Whig  houses,  too  young 
at  that  time  to  possess  more  than  a  prospective  influence, 
would  carry  the  reform  from  which  his  elders  recoiled,  and 
gift  the  prince-opposing  Whig-Radical  with  a  pension,  under 
the  gracious  countenance  of  a  queen  whom  the  Radical  loves. 
I  think  the  Edinbitrgh  Review  might  have  noticed  my 
books  a  little  oftener.  I  am  sure  it  would  have  done  me  a 
great  deal  of  worldly  good  by  it,  and  itself  no  harm  in  these 
progressing  days  of  criticism.  But  I  said  nothing  on  the 
subject,  and  may  have  been  thought  indifferent. 

Of  Mr.  Blanco  White,  thus  brought  to  my  recollection,  a 
good  deal  is  known  in  certain  political  and  religious  quarters ; 
but  it  may  be  new  to  many  readers,  that  he  was  an  Anglo- 
Spaniard,  who  was  forced  to  quit  the  Peninsula  for  his 
liberal  opinions,  and  who  died  in  his  adopted  country  not 
long  ago,  after  many  years'  endeavor  to  come  to  some 
positive  faith  within  the  Christian  pale.  At  the  time  I 
knew  him  he  had  not  long  arrived  from  Spain,  and  was  en- 
gaged, or  about  to  be  engaged,  as  tutor  to  the  present  Lord 
Holland.  Though  English  by  name  and  origin,  he  was 
more  of  the  Spaniard  in  appearance,  being  very  imlike  the 
portrait  prefixed  to  his  Life  and  Correspondence.  At 
least,  he  must  have  greatly  altered  from  what  he  was  when 
I  knew  him,  if  that  portrait  ever  resembled  him.  He  had 
a  long  pale  face,  with  prominent  drooping  nose,  anxious  and 
somewhat  staring  eyes,  and  a  mouth  turning  down  at  the 
corners.  I  believe  there  was  not  an  honester  man  in  the 
world,  or  one  of  an  acuter  intellect,  short  of  the  mischief 
that  had  been  done  it  by  a  melancholy  temperament  and  a 
superstitious  training.  It  is  distressing,  in  the  work  alluded 
to,  to  see  what  a  torment  the  intellect  may  be  rendered  to 
itself  by  its  own  sharpness,  in  its  efforts  to  make  its  way  to 
conclusions,  equally  unnecessary  to  discover  and  impossible 
to  be  arrived  at. 


1 


270  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

But,  perhaps,  there  was  something  naturally  self-torment- 
ing in  the  state  of  Mr.  White's  blood.  The  first  time  I 
met  him  at  a  friend's  house,  he  was  suflering  under  the 
calumnies  of  his  countrymen ;  and  though  of  extremely 
gentle  manners  in  ordinary,  he  almost  startled  me  by  sud- 
denly turning  round,  and  saying,  in  one  of  those  incorrect 
foreign  sentences  which  force  one  to  be  relieved  while  they 
startle,  "  If  they  proceed  more,  I  will  go  mad." 

In  like  manner,  Avhile  he  was  giving  me  the  Holland- 
house  invitation,  and  telling  me  of  the  amusement  derived 
from  the  pathetic  cod's  head  and  shoulders,  he  looked  so  like 
the  piscatory  bust  which  he  was  describing,  that  with  all 
my  respect  for  his  patriotism  and  his  sorrows,  I  could  not 
help  partaking  of  the  unlucky  tendency  of  my  countrymen 
to  be  amused,  in  spite  of  myself,  with  the  involuntary  bur- 
lesque. 

Mr.  White,  on  his  arrival  in  England,  was  so  anxious  a 
student  of  the  language,  that  he  noted  down  in  a  pocket- 
book  every  phrase  which  struck  him  as  remarkable.  Ob- 
serving the  words  "  Cannon  Brewery"  on  premises  then 
standing  in  Knightsbridge,  and  taking  the  figure  of  a  can- 
non which  was  over  them,  as  the  sign  of  the  commodity 
dealt  in,  he  put  dowu  as  a  nicety  of  speech,  "  The  English 
h'eiv  cannon.' 

Another  time,  seeing  maid-servants  walking  with  children 
in  a  nursery-garden,  he  rejoiced  in  the  progeny-loving  char- 
acter of  the  people  among  Avhom  he  had  come,  and  wrote 
down,  "Public  gardens  provided  for  nurses,  in  which  they 
take  the  children  to  walk." 

This  gentleman,  who  had  been  called  "  Blanco"  in  Spain 
— which  was  a  translation  of  his  family  name  "  White," 
and  who  afterward  wrote  an  excellent  English  book  of  enter- 
taining letters  on  the  Peninsula,  under  the  Grajco-Spanish 
appellation  of  Don  Lcucadio  Doblado  (White  doubled) — -was 
author  of  a  sonnet  which  Coleridge  pronounced  to  be  the 
best  in  the  English  language.  I  know  not  what  Mr. 
Wordsworth  said  on  this  judgment.  Perhaps  he  wrote  fifty 
sonnets  on  the  spot  to  disprove  it.  And  in  truth  it  was  a 
bold  sentence,  and  probably  spoken  out  of  a  kindly,  though 


BLANCO  WHITE'S  SONNET.  271 

not  conscioiis,   spirit  of  exaggeration.      The  sonnet,  never- 
theless, is  truly  beautiful. 

As  I  do  not  like  to  have  such  things  referred  to  without 
being  shown  them,  in  case  I  have  not  seen  them  before, 
I  shall  "do  as  I  would  be  done  by,  and  lay  it  before  the 
reader  : 

"  Mysterious  night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 

Thee,  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 

Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame — 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 
Yet,  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew. 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame 

Hesperus,  with  the  host  of  heaven,  came. 

And,  lo  !  creation  widened  in  JMan's  view. 
Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 

Within  thy  beams,  O  sun  !  or  who  could  find, 
Whilst  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed. 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  niad'st  us  blind ! 
Why  do  we  then  shun  death  with  anxious  strife  ? 
If  light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  life?" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  REGENT  AND  THE  EXAMINER. 

"The  Prince  on  St.  Patrick's  Day."' — Indictment  for  an  attack  on  tho 
Regent  in  that  article. — Present  feelings  of  the  writer  on  the  sub- 
ject.— Real  sting  of  the  offense  in  the  article. — Sentence  of  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  Examiner  to  an  imprisonment  for  two  years. — Their 
rejection  of  two  proposals  of  compromise. — Lord  EUenborough,  Mr. 
Garrow,  and  Mr.  Justice  Grose. 

Every  thing  having  been  thus  prepared  by  myself,  as 
well  as  by  others,  for  a  good  blow  at  the  Exa7niner,  the 
ministers  did  not  fail  to  strike  it. 

There  was  an  annual  dinner  of  the  Irish  on  St.  Patrick  s 
Day,  at  which  the  Prince  of  Wales's  name  used  to  be  the 
reigning  and  rapturous  toast,  as  t'lat  of  the  greatest  friend 
they  possessed  in  the  United  Kingdom.  lie  was  held  to  be 
the  jovial  advocate  of  liberality  in  all  things,  and  sponsor  in 
particular  for  concession  to  the  Catholic  claims.  But  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  now  become  Prince  Regent,  had  retained 
the  Tory  ministers  of  his  father  ;  he  had  broken  life-long 
engagements  ;  had  violated  his  promises,  particular  as  well 
as  general,  those  to  the  Catholics  among  them;  and  led  in 
toto  a  difierent  political  life  from  what  had  been  expected. 
The  name,  therefore,  which  used  to  be  hailed  with  rapture, 
was  now,  at  the  dinner  in  question,  received  with  hisses. 

An  article  appeared  on  the  subject  in  the  Examiner  ; 
the  attorney-general's  eye  was  swiftly  upon  the  article  ;  and 
the  result  to  the  proprietors  was  two  years'  imprisonment, 
with  a  fine,  to  each,  of  five  hundred  pounds.  I  shall  relate 
the  story  of  my  imprisonment  a  few  pages  onward.  Much 
as  it  injured  me,  I  can  not  wish  that  I  had  evaded  it,  for  I 
believe  that  it  did  good,  and  I  should  have  suffered  far  worse 
in  the  self-abasement.  Neither  have  I  any  quarrel,  at  this 
distance  of  time,  with  the  Prince  Regent ;  for  though  his 


PRESENT  FEELINGS  TOWARD  GEORGE  IV.  273 

frivolity,  his  tergiversation,  and  his  treatment  of  his  wife, 
will  not  allow  me  to  respect  his  memory,  I  am  bound  to 
pardon  it  as  I  do  my  own  faults,  in  consideration  of  the  cir' 
cumstances  which  mould  the  character  of  every  human 
being.  Could  I  meet  him  in  some  odd  corner  of  the  Elysian 
fields,  where  charity  had  room  for  both  of  us,  I  should  first 
apologize  to  him  for  having  been  the  instrument  in  the 
hand  of  events  for  attacking  a  fellow-creature,  and  then  ex- 
pect to  hear  him  avow  as  hearty  a  regret  for  having  injured 
myself,  and  unjustly  treated  his  wife. 

Having  made  these  acknowledgments,  I  here  repeat  the 
article  in  which  the  libel  appeared,  in  order  that  people  may 
see  how  far  it  Avas  excusable  or  otherwise  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  whether  the  acknowledgments  are  sufficing.  I 
would  rather,  for  obvious  reasons,  both  personal  to  myself 
and  otherwise,  have  repeated  nothing  whatsoever  against  any 
individual  of  her  Majesty's  kindred,  however  differently  con- 
stituted from  herself,  or  however  strong  and  obvious  the  line 
which  every  body  can  draw  between  portions  of  the  same 
family  at  different  periods  of  time,  and  under  different  cir- 
cumstances of  breeding  and  connection.  A  man  may  have 
had  a  quarrel  with  Charles  the  Second  (many  a  man  did 
have  one),  without  bringing  into  question  his  loyalty  to 
Queen  Mary  or  Queen  Anne.  Nay,  his  loyalty  may  have 
been  greater,  and  was  ;  nor  (as  I  have  said  elsewhere)  could 
I  have  felt  so  much  respect,  and  done  my  best  to  show  it, 
for  the  good  qualities  of  Queen  Victoria  had  I  not  been 
impressed  in  a  different  manner  by  the  faults  of  her  kinsmen. 
But  having  committed  myself  to  the  task  of  recording  these 
events  in  the  history  of  the  Ezcwiiner,  I  could  not  but  ren 
der  the  narrative  complete. 

THE  PRINCE  ON  ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY. 

[Examiner,  No.  221;    Simday,  March  22,  1812.) 

The  Prince  Regent  is  still  in  every  body's  mouth ;  and  unless  he  is 
as  insensible  to  biting  as  to  bantering,  a  delicious  time  he  has  of  it  in 
that  remorseless  ubiquity !  If  a  person  takes  in  a  newspaper,  the  first 
thing  he  does,  when  he  looks  at  it,  is  to  give  the  old  groan,  and  sav, 


274 


LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 


"Well!  what  of  the  Prince  Regent  now?"  If  he  goes  out  after 
breakfast,  the  first  friend  he  meets  is  sure  to  begin  talking  about  the 
Prince  Regent  ;  and  the  two  always  separate  with  a  shrug.  He  who 
is  lounging  along  tiic  street  will  take  your  arm,  and  turn  back  with 
you  to  expatiate  on  the  Prince  Regent ;  and  he  in  a  hurry,  who  is 
skimminnr  the  other  side  of  the  way,  hallooes  out  as  he  goes,  "  Fine 
things  these  of  the  Prince  Regent !"  You  can  scarcely  pass  by  two 
people  talking  together,  but  you  shall  hear  the  words,  "  Prince 
Regent;"  "If  the  Prince  Regent  has  done  that,  he  must  be — "  or 
such  as,  "  The  Prince  Regent  and  Lord  Yar — "  the  rest  escapes  in 
the  distance.  At  dinner,  the  Prince  Regent  quite  eclipses  the  gocse 
or  the  calf 's-head ;  the  tea-table,  of  course,  rings  of  the  Prince  Regent ; 
if  the  company  go  to  the  theatre  to  see  The  Hypocrite,  or  the  new 
farce  of  Turn  Out,  they  can  not  help  thinking  of  the  Prince  Regent ; 
and,  as  Dean  Swift  extracted  philosophical  meditations  from  a  broom- 
stick, so  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  any  serious  person,  in  going  to 
bed,  should  find  in  his  very  nightcap  something  to  remind  him  of  the 
merits  of  the  Prince  Regent.  In  short,  there  is  no  other  subject  but 
one  that  can  at  all  pretend  to  a  place  in  the  attention  of  our  country- 
men, and  that  is  their  old  topic,  the  weather;  their  whole  sympathies 
are  at  present  divided  between  the  Prince  Regent  and  the  barometer. 

"  Nocte  pluit  tota;  redeunt  spectacula  mane  ; 
Divisum  imperium  cum  Jove  Caesar  habet." 

Virgil. 

All  night  the  weeping  tempests  blow; 
All  day  our  state  surpasseth  show; 
Doubtless  a  blessed  empire  share 
The  Prince  of  Wales  and  Prince  of  Air. 

But  the  ministerial  journalists,  and  other  creatures  of  government, 
will  tell  j^ou  that  there  is  nothing  in  all  this  :  or,  rather,  they  will 
insist  that  it  is  to  be  tsJccn  in  a  good  sense,  and  that  the  universal  talk 
respecting  the  Prince  Regent  is  highly  to  his  advantage ;  for  it  is  to 
be  remarked  that  these  gentlemen  have  a  pleasant  way  of  proving  to 
us  that  we  have  neither  eyes  nor  ears,  and  would  willingly  persuade 
us  in  time,  that  to  call  a  man  an  idiot  or  a  profligate  is  subscribing  to 
his  wisdom  and  virtue ;  a  logic,  by-thc-by,  which  enables  us  to  dis- 
cover how  it  is  they  turn  their  own  reputation  to  account,  and  contrive 
to  have  so  good  an  opinion  of  themselves.  Thus,  whenever  they  per- 
ceive an  obnoxious  sensation  excited  among  the  people  by  particular 
measures,  they  always  affect  to  confine  it  to  the  organs  by  which  it 
is  expressed,  and  cry  out  against  what  they  are  pleased  to  term  "a 
few  factious  individuals,"  who  arc  represented  as  a  crafty  set  of  fellows, 
that  get  their  living  Ijy  contradicting  and  disgusting  every  body  else ! 
How  such  a  trade  can  be  thriving,  we  are  not  informed :  it  is  certainly 
a  very  difierent  one  from  their  own,  which,  however  it  may  disgust 
other  people,  succeeds  by  echoing  and  flattering  the  opinions  of  men 


THE  EXAMINER'S  ATTACK  ON  THE  REGENT.        275 

in  power.  It  is  in  vain  that  you  refer  them  to  human  nature,  and  to 
the  opinions  that  are  naturally  created  by  profligate  rulers :  they  are 
not  acquainted  with  human  nature,  and  still  less  with  any  such  rulers ; 
it  is  in  vain  that  you  refer  them  to  companies ;  it  is  in  vain  that  you 
refer  them  to  popular  meetings,  to  common-halls  of  their  own.  Be  it 
so,  then ;  let  us  compound  with  them,  and  agree  to  consider  all  direct 
political  meetings  as  party-assemblages,  particulai'ly  those  of  the  Re- 
formists, who,  whatever  room  they  may  occupy  on  the  occasion,  and 
whatever  advocates  they  may  possess  from  one  end  of  the  kingdom  to 
another,  shall  be  nothing  but  a  few  factious  individuals,  as  contempt- 
ible for  their  numbers  and  public  effect,  as  for  their  bad  writing  and 
worse  principles.  Nay,  let  us  even  resort  on  this  occasion  to  persons, 
who,  having  but  one  great  political  object,  unconnected  with  the 
abstract  merits  of  party,  persisted  for  so  many  years  in  expressing  an 
ardent  and  hopeful  attachment  to  the  Prince  Regent,  and  in  positively 
shutting  their  eyes  to  such  parts  of  his  character  as  might  have  shaken 
their  dependence  upon  him,  looking  only  to  his  succession  in  the  gov- 
ernment as  the  day  of  their  country's  happiness,  and  caring  not  who 
should  surround  his  throne,  provided  he  would  only  be  true  to  his. own 
word.  An  assembly  of  such  persons — such,  at  least,  was  their  com- 
position for  the  much  greater  part — met  the  other  day  at  the  Free- 
masons' Tavern,  to  celebrate  the  Irish  anniversary  of  Saint  Patrick ; 
and  I  shall  proceed  to  extract  from  the  Morning  Chronicle  such 
passages  of  what  passed  on  the  occasion  as  apply  to  his  Royal  High- 
ness, in  order  that  the  reader  may  see  at  once  what  is  now  thought 
of  him,  not  by  Whigs  and  Pittites,  or  any  other  party  of  the  state,  but 
by  the  fondest  and  most  trusting  of  his  fellow-subjects,  by  those  whose 
hearts  have  danced  at  his  name,  who  have  caught  from  it  inspiration 
to  their  poetry,  patience  to  their  alBictions,  and  hope  to  their  patriotism. 

'"The  anniversary  of  this  day — a  day  always  precious  in  the  esti- 
mation of  an  Irishman — was  celebrated  yesterday  at  the  Freemasons' 
Tavern  by  a  numerous  and  highly  respectable  assemblage  of  individu- 
als. The  Marquis  of  Lansdowne  presided  at  the  meeting,  supported 
by  the  Marquis  of  Downshire,  the  Earl  of  INIoira,  Mr.  Sheridan,  the 
Lord  Mayor,  Mr.  Sheriff  Heygate,  &c.  &c.  When  the  cloth  was  I'S- 
moved,  Non  Nobis  Domine  was  sung,  after  which  the  IMarquis  of 
Lansdowne,  premising  that  the  meeting  was  assembled  for  pur- 
poses of  charity,  rather  than  of  party  or  political  feeling,  gave  'the 
health  of  the  King,'  which  was  drunk  with  enthusiastic  and  rapturous 
applause.  This  was  followed  by  God  save  the  King,  and  then  the 
Noble  Marquis  gave  'the  healtii  of  the  Prince  Regent,'  which  was 
drunk  with  partial  applause,  and  loud  and  reiterated  hisses.  The  next 
toast,  which  called  forth  great  and  continued  applause,  lasting  nearly 
five  minutes,  was  '  the  Navy  and  Army.'  " 

The  interests  of  the  Charity  were  then  considered,  and,  after  a  pro- 
cession of  the  children  (a  sight  worth  all  the  gaudy  and  hollow  flour- 
ish of  military  and  courtly  pomps),  a  very  handsome  collection  was 
made  from  the  persons  present.     Upon  this,  the  Toasts  wore  resumed : 


276  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

and  '  Lord  Moira"s  health  being  drunk  with  loud  and  reiterated  cheer- 
in"-,'  his  lordship  made  a  speech,  in  which  not  a  word  ivas  uttered  of 
the  Rcqc7it.     Here  let  the  reader  pause  a  moment  and  consider  what 
a  quantity  of  meaninrr  must  be  wrapped  up  in  the  silence  of  such  a 
man  with  regard  to  his  old  companion  and  prince.     Lord  Moira  uni- 
versally bears  the  character  of  a  man  who  is  generous  to  a  fault ;  he 
is  even  said  to  be  almost  unacquainted  with  the  language  of  denial  or 
rebuke  ;  and  if  this  part  of  his  character  has  been  injurious  to  him,  it 
has,  at  least,  with  his  past  and  his  present  experience,  helped  him  to  a 
thorou"h  knowledge  of  the  prince's  character.     Yet  this  nobleman, 
so  generous,  so  kindly  affectioned,  so  well  experienced — even  he  has 
nothing  to  say  in  favor  of  his  old  acquaintance.      The  Prince  has  had 
obligaUons  from  him,  and  therefore  his  lordship  feels  himself  bound,  in 
gentlemanly  feeling,  to  say  nothing  in  his  disparagement;  and,  in  spite 
of  the  .additional  tenderness  which  that  very  circumstance  would  give 
him  for  the  better  side  of  his  Royal  Highness's  character,  he  feels  him- 
self bound  in  honesty  to  say  nothing  in  his  praise — not  a  word — not  a 
syllable !     No  more  need  be  observed  on  this  point.     His  Lordship 
concluded  with  proposing  the  health  of  the  INIarquis  of  Lansdowne, 
who,  upon  receiving  the  applause  of  the  company,  expressed  himself 
'  deeply  sensible  of  such  an  honor,  coming  from  men  whose  national 
character  it  was  to  be  generously  warm  in  their  praise,  but  not  more 
generously  warm  than  faithfully  sincere.'    This  elegant  compliment  was 
justly  received,  and  told  more  perhaps,  than  every  body  imagined ;  for 
those  who  are  '  faithfully  sincere'  in  their  praise  are  apt  to  be  equally 
so  in  their  censure,  and  thus  the  hisses  bestowed  were  put  on  an  equal 
footing  of  sincerity  with  the  applause.     The  health  of  the  Vice-Pres- 
idents was  then  given,  and  after  a  short  speech  from  Lord  ]Mountjoy, 
and   much   anticipating  clamor   with    '  ]\Ir.   Sheridan's   health,'    Mr. 
Sheridan  at  length  arose,  and  in  a  low  tone  of  voice  returned  his  thanks 
for  the  honorable  notice  by  which  so  large  a  meeting  of  his  countrymen 
thought  proper  to  distinguish  him.      [Jlpplausc.)     He  had  ever  been 
proud  of  Ireland,  and  hoped  that  his  country  might  never  have  cause 
to  be  ashamed  of  him.      [Applause.)     Ireland  never  forgot  those  who 
did  all  they  could  do,  however  little  that  might  be,  in  behalf  of  her  best 
interests.     All  allusion  to  politics  had  been  industriously  deprecated 
by  their  noble  Chairman.     He  was  aware  that  charity  was  the  imme- 
diate object  of  their  meeting ;  but  standing  as  he  did,  before  an  as- 
sembly of  his  countrymen,  he  could  not  affect  to  disguise  his  convic- 
tion, that  at  the  present  crisis  Ireland  involved  in  itself  every  consid- 
eration dear  to  the  best  interests  of  the  empire.      (Hear,  hear.)     It 
was,  therefore,  that  he  was  most  anxious  that  nothing  should  transpire 
in  that  meeting  calculated  to  injure  those  great  objects,  or  to  visit 
with  undeserved  censure  the  conduct  of  persons  whose  love  to  Ireland 
was  OS  cordial  and  as  zealous  as  it  ever  had  been.     He  confessed 
frankly,  that,  knowing  as  he  did  the  unaltered  and  unalterable  senti- 
ments of  one  illustrious  personage  toward  Ireland,  he  could  not  conceal 
from  the  meeting  that  he  bad  felt  considerably  shocked  at  the  tulky 


THE  EXAMINER'S  ATTACK  ON  THE  REGENT.        177 

coldness  and  surly  discontent  with  which  they  had  on  that  evening 
drunk  the  health  of  the  Prince  Regent.  (Here  we  are  sorry  to  observe 
that  jNIr.  S.  was  interrupted  by  no  very  equivocal  symptoms  of  disap- 
probation.) When  silence  was  somewhat  restored,  Mr.  Sheridan  said 
that  he  kneio  the  Prince  Regent  well — [hisses] — he  knew  his  principles 
— (hisses) — they  would  at  least,  he  hoped,  give  him  credit  for  believing 
that  he  knew  them  when  he  said  he  did.  (Applause.)  He  repeated, 
that  he  knew  well  the  principles  of  the  Prince  Regent,  and  that  so  well 
satisfied  was  he  that  they  were  all  that  Ireland  could  wish,  that  he 
(Mr.  Sheridan)  hoped,  that  as  he  had  lived  up  to  them,  so  he  might 
die  in  the  principles  of  the  Prince  Regent.  (Hisses  and  applause.) 
He  should  be  .sorry  personally  to  have  merited  their  disapprobation. 
(General  applause,  with  cries  of  '  Change  the  subject,  and  speak  out.') 
He  could  only  assure  them  that  the  Prince  Regent  remained  unchange- 
ably true  to  those  principles.  (Here  the  clamors  became  so  loud  and 
general  that  we  could  collect  nothing  more.) 

Although  the  company,  however,  refused  to  give  a  quiet  hearing 
to  Mr.  Sheridan  while  he  talked  in  this  manner,  yet  the  moment  he 
sat  down  they  rose  up,  it  seems,  and,  as  a  mark  that  they  were  not 
personally  offended,  gave  him  a  general  clap :  the  Chronicle  says  it 
was  '  to  mark  their  peculiar  respect  and  esteem  for  him ;'  and  as  the 
rest  of  the  above  report  is  taken  from  that  paper,  it  is  fit  that  this 
encomiastic  assertion  should  accompany  it ;  but,  however  the  reporter 
might  choose  to  interpret  it,  there  appears  to  be  no  reason  for  giving 
it  a  livelier  construction,  than  the  one  before  mentioned.  We  know 
well  enough  what  the  Irish  think  of  Mr.  Sheridan.  They  believe  he 
has  been,  and  is  their  friend ;  and  on  that  account  their  gratitude  will 
always  endeavor  to  regard  him  as  complacently  as  possible,  and  to 
separate  what  his  masters  can  do  from  what  ho  himself  can  not :  it 
even  prevents  them,  perhaps,  from  discerning  the  harm  which  a  man 
of  his  lax  turn  of  thinking,  in  countenancing  the  loose  principles  of 
another,  may  have  done  to  the  cause  which  he  hoped  to  assist ;  but 
they  are  not  blind  to  his  defects  in  general  any  more  than  the  English; 
and  after  the  terrible  example  that  has  been  furnished  us  for  the  bad 
effects  of  those  principles,  'peculiar  respect  and  esteem'  are  words 
not  to  be  prostituted  to  every  occasion  of  convivial  good  temper.  It 
is  too  late  to  let  a  contingent  and  partial  good-will  exaggerate  in 
this  manner,  and  throw  away  the  panegyrics  that  belong  to  first-rate 
worthiness. 

But  to  return  to  the  immediate  subject.  Here  is  an  assembly  of 
Irishmen,  respectable  for  their  rank  and  benevolence,  and  desirous, 
for  years,  of  thinking  well  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  absolutely  loading 
with  contempt  the  very  mention  of  his  '  principles,'  and  shutting  their 
ears  against  a  repetition  of  the  word — so  great  is  their  disdain  and 
their  indignation.  Principles!  How  are  we«to  judge  of  principles 
but  by  conduct  ?  And  what,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  does 
Mr.  Sheridan  mean  by  saying  that  the  prince  adheres  to  his  princi- 
ples?    Was  it  a  principle  then  in  his  Royal  Highne.ss,  not  to  adhere 


278  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

to  his  professions  and  iiromiscs  ?  And  is  it  in  Itecping  to  such  a 
principle,  that  jNIr.  Sheridan  informs  us  and  '  the  public  in  general,' 
that  he  means  to  live  and  die  in  the  principles  of  his  master  ?  What 
did  Lord  IVIoira,  the  Marquis  Lansdowne,  or  the  Duke  of  Devonshire 
say  to  these  praises  ?  Did  they  anticipate  or  echo  them  ?  No ;  they 
kept  a  dead  silence  ;  and  for  this  conscientiousness  they  are  reproved 
by  the  ministerial  papers,  which  pathetically  tell  us  how  good  his 
Royal  Highness  had  been  to  the  charity,  and  what  a  shame  it  was  to 
mingle  political  feelings  with  the  objects  of  such  a  meeting  !  Political 
candor,  they  mean  :  had  it  been  political  flattery,  they  would  not  have 
cared  what  had  been  said  of  the  Prince  Regent,  nor  how  many  foreign 
questions  had  been  discussed.  It  might  have  been  proper  in  the 
meeting,  had  it  been  possible,  to  distinguish  between  the  Prince  of 
Wales  as  a  subscriber  to  the  Irish  charity,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales 
as  a  clincher  of  Irish  chains  ;  but  when  the  health  of  such  a  personage 
is  proposed  to  such  a  meeting,  political  considerations  are  notoriously 
supposed  to  be  implied  in  the  manner  of  its  reception,  and  had  tho 
reception  been  favorable,  the  ministerialists  would  have  been  as  eager 
to  take  advantage  of  it  as  they  now  are  to  take  umbrage.  So  much 
for  the  inevitable  disclosure  of  truth,  in  one  way  or  another ;  and  thus 
has  the  very  first  utterance  of  the  public  opinion,  viva  voce,  been  loud 
and  unequivocal  in  rebuke  of  the  Prince  Regent. 

It  is  impossible,  however,  before  the  present  article  is  closed,  to 
resist  an  observation  or  two  on  the  saddest  of  these  ministerial  papers. 
Our  readers  are  aware  that  the  Morning  Post,  above  all  its  rivals,  has 
a  faculty  of  carrying  its  nonsense  to  a  pitch  that  becomes  amusing  in 
spite  of  itself,  and  affords  relief  to  one's  feelings  in  the  very  excess 
of  its  inflictions.  Its  paper  of  Thursday  last,  in  answer  to  a  real  or 
pretended  correspondent,  contained  the  following  paragraph :  '  The 
publication  of  the  article  of  a  friend,  relative  to  the  ungenerous,  un- 
manly conduct,  displayed  at  a  late  public  meeting  though  evidently 
well  meant,  would  only  serve  to  give  consequence  to  a  set  of  worth- 
less beings,  whose  imbecile  efforts  are  best  treated  with  sovereign 
contempt.'  Worthless  beings  and  sovereign  contempt !  Who  would 
not  suppose  that  some  lofty  and  exemplary  character  was  here  speak- 
ing of  a  set  of  informers  and  profligates '?  One,  at  any  rate,  whose 
notice  was  an  honor,  and  whose  silent  disdain  would  keep  the  noisiest 
of  us  in  obscurity  ?  Yet  this  is  the  paper,  notorious  above  all  others 
in  the  annals  of  perfidy,  scandal,  imbecility,  and  indecency — the  paper 
which  has  gone  directly  from  one  side  to  another,  and  which  has 
levied  contributions  upon  this  very  prince,  which  has  become  a  by- 
word for  its  cant  and  bad  writing,  and  which  has  rioted  in  a  doggrel, 
an  adulation,  and  a  ribaldry,  that  none  but  the  most  prostituted  pens 
would  consent  to  use — the  paper,  in  short,  of  the  Stuarts,  the  Benja- 
fields,  the  Byrnes,  and  ^le  Rosa  Matildas  !  ami  this  delicious  compound 
is  to  '  give  consequence'  to  a  society,  consisting  of  the  most  respecta- 
ble Irishmen  in  London,  with  rank  and  talent  at  their  head !  Help 
us,  benevolent  compositors,  to  some  mark  or  other — some  significant 


THE  EXAMINER'S  ATTACK  ON  THE  REGENT.         279 

and  comprehensive  index — that  shall  denote  a  laugh  of  an  hour's 
duration.  If  any  one  of  our  readers  should  not  be  so  well  acquainted 
as  another  with  the  taste  and  principles  of  this  bewitching  Post,  he 
may  be  curious  to  see  what  notions  of  praise  and  political  justice  are 
entertained  by  the  person  whose  contempt  is  so  overwhelmino-. 

He  shall  have  a  specimen,  and  when  he  is  reading  it,  let  him 
lament,  in  the  midst  of  his  laughter,  that  a  paper,  capable  of  such 
sickening  adulation,  should  have  the  power  of  finding  its  way  to  the 
table  of  an  English  prince,  and  of  helping  to  endanger  the  country  by 
polluting  the  sources  of  its  government.  The  same  page,  which  con- 
tained the  specimen  of  contempt  above-mentioned,  contained  also  a 
set  of  wretched  commonplace  lines  in  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and 
English,  literally  addressing  the  prince  regent  in  the  following  terms, 
among  others :  '  You  are  the  Glory  of  the  people^ — '  You  are  the  Pro- 
tector of  the  arts'' — '  You  are  the  SIcecmts  of  the  age' — '  Wherever 
you  appear  you  conquer  all  hearts,  wipe  away  tears,  excite  desire  and 
love,  and  win  beauty  toward  you' — '  You  breathe  eloquence' — '  You 
inspire  the  Graces' — '  You  are  Adonis  in  loveliness  .''  '  Thus  gifted,' 
it  proceeds  in  English, 

'  Thus  gifted  with  each  grace  of  mind, 
Born  to  delight  and  bless  mankind ; 
Wisdom,  with  Pleasure  in  her  train. 
Great  prince !  shall  signalize  thy  reign  : 
To  Honor,  Virtue,  Truth  allied ; 
The  nation's  safeguard  and  its  pride ; 
With  monarehs  of  immortal  fame 
Shall  bright  renown  enroll  the  name.' 

What  person,  unacquainted  with  the  true  state  of  the  case,  would 
imagine,  in  reading  these  astounding  eulogies,  that  this  '  Glory  of  the 
people'  was  the  subject  of  millions  of  shrugs  and  reproaches !  that 
this  '  Protector  of  the  arts'  had  named  a  wretched  foreigner  his 
historical  painter,  in  disparagement  or  in  ignorance  of  the  merits  of 
his  own  countrymen !  that  this  '  Macnus  of  the  age'  patronized  not 
a  single  deserving  writer!  that  this  ^Breather  of  clorMence'  could  not 
say  a  few  decent  extempore  words — if  we  are  to  judge,  at  least,  from 
what  he  said  to  his  regiment  on  its  embarkation  for  Portugal !  that 
this  '  Conqueror  of  hearts'  was  the  disappointer  of  hopes  !  that  this 
'  Exciter  of  desire'  [bravo  !  JMessieurs  of  the  Post .'] — this  '  Monis  in 
loveliness'  was  a  corpulent  man  of  fifty  !  in  sort,  that  this  delightful, 
blissful,  wise,  pleasurable,  honorable,  virtuous,  true,  and  immortal 
prince,  was  a  violator  of  his  word,  a  libertine,  over  head  and  ears  in 
disgrace,  a  despiser  of  domestic  ties,  the  companion  of  gamblers  and 
demireps,  a  man  who  has  just  closed  half  a  century  without  one  single 
claim  on  the  gratitude  of  his  country,  or  the  respect  of  posterity  ! 

These  are  hard  truths ;  but  arc  they  not  truths  ?  And  have  we 
not  suflered  enough — are  we  not  now  suffering  bitterly — from  the 
disgusting  flatteries  of  which  the  above  is  a  repetition  ?     The  minis- 


'•so  LIFE  OF  LVAGU  HUNT. 

tors  may  talk  of  ihc  shockiiif:f  buldiicss  of  the  press,  and  may  throw  out 
their  wretched  warnings  about  interviews  between  Mr.  Perceval  and 
Sir  Vicary  Gibbs  ;  but  let  us  inform  them,  that  such  vices  as  have 
just  been  enumerated  are  shocking  to  all  Englishmen  who  have  a  just 
sense  of  the  state  of  Europe ;  and  that  he  is  a  bolder  man,  who,  in 
times  like  the  present,  dares  to  afibrd  reason  for  the  description. 
Would  to  God,  the  Examiner  could  ascertain  that  difficult,  and  per- 
haps undiscoverable  point,  which  enables  a  public  writer  to  keep  clear 
of  an  appearance  of  the  love  of  scandal,  while  he  is  hunting  out  the 
vices  of  those  in  power !  Then  should  one  paper,  at  least,  in  this 
metropolis,  help  to  rescue  the  nation  from  the  charge  of  silently 
encouraging  what  it  must  publicly  rue  ;  and  the  Sardanapalus,  who 
is  now  afraid  of  none  but  informers,  be  taught  to  shake,  in  the  midst 
of  his  minions,  in  the  very  drunkenness  of  his  heart,  at  the  voice  of 
honesty.  But  if  this  be  impossible,  still  there  is  one  benefit  which 
truth  may  derive  from  adulation — one  benefit  which  is  favorable  to 
the  former  in  proportion  to  the  grossness  of  the  latter,  and  of  which 
none  of  his  flatterers  seem  to  be  aware — the  opportunity  of  contra- 
dicting its  assertions.  Let  us  never  forget  this  advantage,  which 
adulation  can  not  help  giving  us  ;  and  let  such  of  our  readers  as  are 
inclined  to  deal  insincerely  with  the  great,  from  a  false  notion  of  policy 
and  of  knowledge  of  the  world,  take  warning  from  what  we  now  see 
of  the  miserable  effects  of  courtly  disguise,  paltering,  and  profligacy. 
Flatterv  in  any  shape  is  unworthy  a  man  and  a  gentleman ;  but 
political  flattery  is  almost  a  request  to  be  made  slaves.  If  we  would 
have  the  great  to  be  what  they  ought,  we  must  find  some  means  or 
other  to  speak  of  them  as  they  are. 

This  article,  no  doubt,  was  very  bitter  and  contemptuous ; 
therefore,  in  the  legal  sense  of  the  term,  very  libelous  ;  the 
more  so,  inasmuch  as  it  was  very  true.  There  will  be  no 
question  about  the  truth  of  it,  at  this  distance  of  time,  with 
any  class  of  persons,  unless,  possibly,  with  some  few  of  the 
old  Tories,  who  may  think  it  was  a  patriotic  action  in  the 
Prince  to  have  displaced  the  Whigs  for  their  opponents.  But 
I  believe,  that  under  all  the  circumstances,  there  are  few 
persons  indeed  nowadays,  of  any  class,  who  will  not  be  of 
opinion,  that,  bitter  as  the  article  was,  it  was  more  than 
sufficiently  avenged  by  two  years'  imprisonment  and  a  fine 
of  a  thousand  pounds.  For  it  did  but  express  what  all  the 
world  were  feeling,  with  the  exception  of  the  Prince's  once 
bitterest  enemies,  the  Tories  themselves,  then  newly  become 
his  friends  ;  and  its  very  sincerity  and  rashness,  had  the 
Prince  possessed  greatness  of  mind  enough  to  think  so,  might 


CONFESSIONS  OF  REGRET.  281 

have  furnished  him  such  a  ground  for  pardoning  it,  as  would 
have  been  the  best  proof  he  could  have  given  us  of  our  hav- 
ing mistaken  him,  and  turned  us  into  blushing  and  grateful 
friends.  An  attempt  to  bribe  us  on  the  side  of  fear,  did  but 
further  disgust  us.  A  free  and  noble  waiving  of  the  punish- 
ment would  have  bowed  our  hearts  into  regret.  We  should 
have  found  in  it  the  evidence  of  that  true  generosity  of  nature 
paramount  to  whatsoever  was  frivolous  or  appeared  to  be 
mean,  which  his  flatterers  claimed  for  him,  and  which  would 
have  made  us  doubly  blush  for  the  formal  virtues  to  which 
he  seemed  to  be  attached,  when,  in  reality,  nothing  would 
have  better  pleased  us  than  such  a  combination  of  the  gay 
and  the  magnanimous.  I  say  doubly  blush,  for  I  now  blush 
at  ever  having  been  considered,  or  rather  been  willing  to  be 
considered,  an  advocate  of  any  sort  of  conventionality,  un- 
qualified by  liberal  exceptions  and  prospective  enlargement ; 
and  I  am  sure  that  my  brother,  had  he  been  living,  who 
was  one  of  the  best  natured  and  most  indulgent  of  men,  would 
have  joined  with  me  in  making  the  same  concession  ;  though 
I  am  bound  to  add,  that,  with  all  his  good  sense,  and  all  his 
indulgence  of  others,  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  he  had 
ever  stood  in  need  of  that  pardon  for  even  conventional 
license,  from  the  necessity  of  which  I  can  not  pretend  to  have 
been  exempt.  I  had  never,  to  bo  sure,  affected  to  denounce 
poor  Mrs.  Robinson  and  others,  as  Gifford  had  done  ;  nor  did 
I  afterward  condescend  to  make  concessions  about  poor  Queen. 
Caroline,  while  I  denounced  those  who  had  no  right  to  de- 
mand them.  All  the  airs  which  I  gave  myself  as  a  censor 
were  over  men  ;  and  I  should  have  blushed  indeed  at  any 
time,  to  have  given  myself  those,  had  the  men  combined  any 
thing  like  generosity  with  license. 

I  now  think,  that  although  for  many  reasons  connected 
with  a  long  career  of  literature  as  well  as  politics,  and  for 
the  general  spirit  of  both,  I  fully  deserve  the  pension  which 
a  liberal  minister  and  a  gracious  queen  have  bestowed  on  me, 
I  had  no  right  in  particular  instances,  and  in  my  own  per- 
son, to  demand  more  virtues  from  any  human  being  than 
nature  and  education  had  given  him,  or  to  denounce  his 
faults  without  giving  him  the  excuse  of  those  circumstances, 


282  LIFE  (JV  Li:iGH  HUiNT. 

and  freely  confessing  my  own.  J  think  that  the  world  is 
best  served  in  any  respect,  in  proportion  as  we  dig  into  the 
first  roots  of  error,  and  cease  blaming  the  poor  boughs  which 
they  injure.      No  man  has  any  more  right  than  another  to 

"  Compound  for  sins  he  is  inclined  to, 
By  damning  those  he  has  no  mind  to." 

If  I  thought  the  Prince  of  Wales  a  coxcomb  in  one  sense  of 
the  word,  he  might  have  been  fully  justified  in  thinking  me 
one  in  another.  If  I  seemed  to  demand,  that  his  life  should 
be  spotless,  he  might  reasonably  have  turned  upon  me,  and 
asked  whether  I  was  spotless  myself  If  I  disliked  him  be- 
cause he  was  selfish  and  ungenerous,  he  might  have  asked 
where  was  the  generosity  of  forgetting  the  luxury  in  which 
he  had  been  brought  up,  my  own  poverty  of  nurture,  on  the 
other  hand,  and  the  master,  who  was  ready  to  flog  instead 
of  flatter  me,  whenever  I  did  not  behave  as  I  ought. 

It  is  understood,  after  all,  that  the  sting  of  the  article  lay 
not  in  the  gravest  portion  of  it,  but  in  the  lightest ;  in  the 
banter  about  the  "  Adonis"  and  the  "  corpulent  gentleman  of 
fifty."  The  serious  remarks  might  have  been  endured,  on 
the  assumption  that  they  themselves  were  an  assumption  ; 
but  to  be  touched  where  the  claim  to  admiration  was  at 
once  obvious  and  preposterous,  was  intolerable.  Hence  the 
general  impression,  was,  and  is,  that  we  were  sent  to  prison, 
because  we  said  the  Prince  Regent  was  fat.  Now,  the 
truth  is,  I  had  no  wish  to  speak  of  his  fat,  or  to  allude  to 
his  person  in  any  way.  Nor  did  I  intend  even  to  banter  him 
in  a  spirit  of  levity.  I  was  very  angry  with  the  flattery, 
and  ridicule  was  the  natural  answer  to  it.  It  was  natural 
enough  in  the  Prince  not  to  like  to  give  up  his  fine  dressing 
and  his  youthful  pretensions  ;  for  he  was  not  wise,  and  he 
had  been  very  handsome  ; 

"  The  glass  of  fashion,  and  the  mould  of  form." 
But  his  adulators  had  no  such  excuse  ;  and  I  was  provoked 
to  see  them  encouraging  the  weakest  of  his  mistakes,  when 
the  most  important  questions  of  state  were  demanding  his 
attention,  and  meeting,  I  thought,  with  nothing  but  the  un- 
handsomest  tergiversation. 

I  have  spoken  of  an  attempt  to  bribe  us.      We  were  given 


BEHAVIOR  OF  THE  JUDGES.  283 

to  understand,  through  the  medium  of  a  third  person,  but  in 
a  manner  emphatically  serious  and  potential,  that  if  we  would 
abstain  in  future  frona  commenting  upon  the  actions  of  the 
royal  personage,  means  would  be  found  to  prevent  our  going 
to  prison.  The  same  offer  was  afterward  repeated,  as  far 
as  the  payment  of  a  fing  was  concerned,  upon  our  going 
thither.  I  need  not  add,  that  we  declined  both.  We  do 
not  mean  to  affirm,  that  these  offers  came  directly  or  indi- 
rectly from  the  quarter  in  which  they  might  be  supposed  to 
originate  ;  but  we  know  the  immediate  quarter  from  which 
they  did  come  ;  and  this  we  may  affirm,  that  of  all  the  "  two 
hundred  and  fifty  particular  friends,"  who  dined  on  a  former 
occasion  at  Carlton  House,  his  Royal  Highness  had  not  one 
more  zealous  or  liberal  in  his  behalf 

The  expectation  of  a  prison  was  in  one  respect  vei'y  form- 
idable to  me  ;  for  J  had  been  a  long  time  in  a  bad  state 
of  health.  I  was  suffering  under  the  worst  of  those  hypo- 
chondriacal attacks  which  I  have  described  in  a  former  chap- 
ter ;  and  when  notice  was  given  that  we  were  to  be  brought 
up  for  judgment,  I  had  just  been  advised  by  the  physician  to 
take  exercise  every  day  on  horseback,  and  go  down  to  the 
sea-side.  I  was  resolved,  however,  to  do  no  disgrace  either 
to  the  courage  which  I  really  possessed,  or  to  the  example 
set  me  by  my  excellent  brother.  I  accordingly  put  my 
countenance  in  its  best  trim  ;  I  made  a  point  of  wearing  my 
best  apparel  ;  and  descended  into  the  legal  arena  to  be  sen- 
tenced gallantly.  As  an  instance  of  the  imagination  which 
1  am  accustomed  to  mingle  with  every  thing,  I  was  at  that 
time  reading  a  little  work,  to  which  ]\Iilton  is  indebted,  the 
Comics  of  Erycius  Puteanus  ;  and  this,  which  is  a  satire  on 
"Bachusscs  and  their  revelers,"  I  pleased  myself  with  hav- 
mg  in  my  pocket. 

It  is  necessary  on  passing  sentence  for  a  libel,  to  read 
over  again  the  words  that  composed  it.  This  was  the 
business  of  Lord  Ellenborough,  who  baffled  the  attentive 
ludience  in  a  very  ingenious  manner  by  affecting  every 
mstant  to  hear  a  noise,  and  calling  upon  the  officers  of  the 
court  to  prevent  it.  Mr.  Garrow,  the  attorney-general  (who 
had  succeeded  Sir  Vicary  Gibbs  at  a  very  cruel  moment, 


2f?4  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

for  the  iiidictmcut  had  been  brought  by  that  irritable  per 
son,  and  was  the  first  against  us  which  took  effect),  behaved 
to  us  with  a  poUteness  that  was  considered  extraordinary. 
Not  so  Mr.  Justice  Grose,  who  delivered  the  sentence.  To 
be  didactic  and  oldwomanish  seemed  to  belong  to  his  nature  ; 
but  to  lecture  us  on  pandering  to  the  public  appetite  for 
scandal,  was  what  we  could  not  so  easily  bear.  My  brother, 
as  I  had  been  the  writer,  expected  me,  perhaps,  to  be  the 
spokesman  ;  and  speak  I  certainly  should  have  done,  had  I 
not  been  prevented  by  the  dread  of  that  hesitation  in  my 
speech,  to  which  I  had  been  subject  when  a  boy,  and  the 
fear  of  which  (perhaps  idly,  for  I  hesitated  at  that  time 
least  among  strangers,  and  very  rarely  do'  so  at  all),  has 
been  the  main  cause,  perhaps,  why  I  have  appeared  and 
acted  in  public  less  than  any  other  public  man.  There  is 
reason  to  think,  that  Lord  EUenborough  was  still  less  easy 
than  ourselves.  He  knew  that  we  were  acquainted  with 
his  visits  to  Carlton-house  and  Brighton  (sympathies  not 
eminently  decent  in  a  judge),  and  with  the  good  things 
which  he  had  obtained  for  his  kinsmen ;  and  we  could  not 
help  preferring  our  feelings  at  the  moment  to  those  which 
induced  him  to  keep  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  papers,  which  he 
did  almost  the  whole  time  of  our  being  in  court,  never  turn- 
ing them  once  to  the  place  on  which  we  stood.  There 
were  divers  other  points,  too,  on  which  he  had  some  reason 
to  fear  that  we  might  choose  to  return  the  lecture  of  the 
bench.  He  did  not  even  look  at  us,  when  he  asked,  in  the 
course  of  his  duty,  whether  it  was  our  wish  to  make  any 
remarks.  I  answered,  that  we  did  not  wish  to  make  any 
there;  and  Mr.  Justice  Grose  proceeded  to  pass  sentence. 
At  the  sound  of  two  years'  imprisonment  in  separate  jails, 
my  brother  and  myself  instinctively  pressed  each  other's 
arm.  It  was  a  heavy  blow;  but  the  pressure  that  acknowl- 
edged it,  encouraged  the  resolution  to  bear  it  ;  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  either  of  us  interchanged  a  Avord  afterward  on 
the  subject. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IMPRISONMENT. 

Author's  imprisonment. — Curious  specimen  of  a  jailer,  an  under-jailer, 
and  an  under-jailer's  wife. — Mr.  Holme  Sumner. — Conversion  of  a 
room  in  a  prison  into  a  fairy  bower. — Author's  visitors. — A  heart- 
rending spectacle. — Felons  and  debtors. — Restoration  to  freedom. 

We  parted  in  hackney-coaches  to  our  respective  abodes, 
accompanied  by  two  tipstaves  apiece. 

They  prepared  me  for  a  singular  character  in  my  jailer. 
His  name  was  Ives.  I  was  told  he  Avas  a  very  self-willed 
personage,  not  the  more  accommodating  for  being  in  a  bad 
state  of  health  ;  and  that  he  called  every  body  Mister 
"  In  short,"  said  one  of  the  tipstaves,  "he  is  one  as  may  be 
led,  but  he'll  never  be  druv." 

The  sight  of  the  prison-gate  and  the  high  wall  was  a 
dreary  business.  I  thought  of  my  horseback  and  the  downs 
of  Brighton  ;  but  congratulated  myself,  at  all  events,  that  I 
had  come  thither  with  a  good  conscience.  After  waiting  in 
the  prison-yard  as  long  as  if  it  had  been  the  ante-room  of  a 
minister,  I  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  great  man. 
He  was  in  his  parlor,  which  was  decently  furnished,  and 
had  a  basin  of  broth  before  him,  which  he  quitted  on  my 
appearance;  and  rose  with  much  solemnity  to  meet  me.  He 
seemed  about  fifty  years  of  age.  He  had  a  white  night-cap 
on,  as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hung,  and  a  great  red  face, 
which  looked  ready  to  burst  with  blood.  Indeed,  he  was 
not  allowed  by  his  physician  to  speak  in  a  tone  above  a 
whisper. 

The  first  thing  which  this  dignified  person  said  was, 
"  Mister,  I'd  ha'  given  a  matter  of  a  hundred  jjounds,  that 
you  had  not  come  to  this  place — a  hundred  pounds  I'  Tlie 
emphasis  which  he  had  laid  on  the  word  "hundred"  was 
ominous. 

I  forget  what   I  answered.      I  endeavored  to  make  the 


286  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

best  of  the  mailer  ;  but  he  recurred  over  and  over  again  to 
the  hundred  pounds  ;  and  said  he  wondered,  for  his  part,, 
wliat  the  Government  meant  by  sending  me  there,  for  the 
prison  was  not  a  prison  fit  for  a  gentleman.  He  often 
repeated  this  opinion  afterward,  adding,  with  a  pecuhar  nod 
of  his  head,  and  "Mister,  they  knows  it." 

I  said,  that  if  a  gentleman  deserved  to  be  sent  to  prison, 
he  ought  not  to  be  treated  with  a  greater  nicety  than  any 
one  else  :  upon  which  he  corrected  me,  observing  very  prop- 
erly (though,  as  the  phrase  is,  it  was  one  word  for  the  gen- 
tleman and  two  for  the  letter  of  prison  lodgings),  that  a 
person  who  had  been  used  to  a  better  mode  of  living  than 
"low  people,"  was  not  treated  with  the  same  justice,  if 
forced  to  lodge  exactly  as  they  did. 

I  told  him  his  observation  was  very  true  ;  which  gave 
him  a  favorable  opinion  of  my  understanding  :  for  I  had 
many  occasions  of  remarking,  that  he  looked  upon  nobody 
as  his  superior,  speaking  even  of  the  members  of  the  royal 
family  as  persons  whom  he  knew  very  well,  and  whom 
he  estimated  no  more  than  became  him.  One  royal  duke 
had  lunched  in  his  parlor,  and  another  he  had  laid  un- 
der some  polite  obligation.  "  They  knows  me,"  said  he, 
"  very  well,  mister ;  and,  mister,  I  knows  them."  This 
concluding  sentence  he  uttered  with  great  particularity  and 
precision. 

He  was  not  proof,  however,  against  a  Greek  Pindar, 
which  he  happened  to  light  upon  one  day  among  my  books. 
Its  unintelligible  character  gave  him  a  notion  that  he  had 
got  somebody  to  deal  with  who  might  really  know  some- 
thing which  he  did  not.  Perhaps  the  gilt  leaves  and  red 
morocco  binding  had  their  share  in  the  magic.  The  upshot 
was,  that  he  always  showed  himself  anxious  to  appear  well 
with  me,  as  a  clever  fellow,  treating  me  with  great  civility 
on  all  occasions  but  one,  when  I  made  him  very  angry  by 
disappointing  him  in  a  money  amount.  The  Pindar  was  a 
mystery  that  staggered  him.  I  remember  very  well,  that 
giving  me  a  long  account  one  day  of  something  connected 
with  his  business,  he  happened  to  catch  with  his  eye  the 
shelf  that   contained   it,    and  whether   he   saw  it   or   not, 


THE  AUTHOR'S  JAILER.  287 

abruptly  finished  by  observing,  "  But,  mister,  you  knows  all 
these  things  as  well  as  I  do." 

Upon  the  whole,  my  new  acquaintance  was  as  strange  a 
person  as  I  ever  met  with.  A  total  want  of  education, 
together  with  a  certain  vulgar  acuteness,  conspired  to  render 
him  insolent  and  pedantic.  Disease  sharpened  his  tendency 
to  fits  of  passion,  which  threatened  to  suffocate  him  ;  and 
then  in  his  intervals  of  better  health  he  would  issue  forth, 
with  his  cock-up-nose  and  his  hat  on  one  side,  as  great  a 
fop  as  a  jockey.  I  remember  his  coming  to  my  rooms, 
about  the  middle  of  my  imprisonment,  as  if  on  purpose  to 
insult  over  my  ill  health  with  the  contrast  of  his  convales- 
cence, putting  his  arms  in  a  gay  manner  a-kimbo,  and  tell- 
ing me  I  should  never  live  to  go  out,  whereas  he  was  riding 
about  as  stout  as  ever,  and  had  just  been  in  the  country. 
He  died  before  I  left  prison. 

The  word  jail,  in  deference  to  the  way  in  which  it  is 
sometimes  spelt,  this  accomplished  individual  pronounced 
gole  ;  and  Mr.  Brougham  he  always  spoke  of  as  Mr.  Bruf- 
fam.  He  one  day  apologized  for  this  mode  of  pronuncia- 
tion, or  rather  gave  a  specimen  of  vanity  and  self-will,  which 
will  show  the  reader  the  high  notions  a  jailer  may  entertain 
of  himself  "  I  find,"  said  he,  "that  they  calls  him  Broom; 
but,  mister"  (assuming  a  look  from  which  there  was  to  be  no 
appeal),  "/calls  him  Bruffani!'' 

Finding  that  my  host  did  not  think  the  prison  fit  for  me, 
I  asked  if  he  could  let  me  have  an  apartment  in  his  house. 
He  pronounced  it  impossible  ;  which  was  a  trick  to  enhance 
the  price.  I  could  not  make  an  oiler  to  please  him ;  and 
he  stood  out  so  long,  and,  as  he  thought,  so  cunningly,  that 
he  subsequently  overreached  himself  by  his  trickery  ;  as  the 
reader  will  see.  His  object  was  to  keep  me  among  the 
prisoners,  till  he  could  at  once  sicken  me  of  the  place,  and 
get  the  permission  of  the  magistrates  to  receive  me  into  his 
house ;  which  was  a  thing  he  reckoned  upon  as  a  certainty. 
He  thus  hoped  to  secure  himself  in  all  quarters  ;  for  his 
vanity  was  almost  as  strong  as  his  avarice.  He  was  equally 
fond  of  getting  money  in  private,  and  of  the  approbation  of 
the  great  men  whom  he  had  to  deal  with  in  public  ;  and  it 


288  LIFE  OF  LEIGH   HCNT. 

SO  happened  that  there  had  been  no  prisoner,  above  the 
poorest  condition,  before  my  arrival,  witli  the  exception  of 
Colonel  Despard.  From  abusing  the  prison,  he  then  sud- 
denly fell  to  speaking  well  of  it,  or  rather  of  the  room  oc- 
cupied by  the  colonel ;  and  said,  that  another  corresponding 
with  it  would  make  me  a  capital  apartment.  "  To  be 
sure,"  said  he,  "  there  is  nothing  but  bare  walls,  and  I  have 
no  bed  to  put  in  it."  I  replied,  that  of  course  I  should  not 
be  hindered  from  having  my  own  bed  from  home.  He  said, 
"  No  ;  and  if  it  rains,"  observed  he,  "  you  have  only  to  put 
up  with  want  of  hght  for  a  time."  "  What  I"  exclaimed 
I,  "  are  there  no  windows  ?"  "  Windows,  mister  I"  cried 
he  ;  "  no  windows  in  a  prison  of  this  sort ;  no  glass,  mister  : 
but  excellent  shutters." 

It  was  finally  agreed,  that  I  should  sleep  for  a  night  or 
two  iu  a  garret  of  the  jailer's  house,  till  my  bed  could  be 
got  ready  in  the  prison,  and  the  windows  glazed.  A  dreary 
evening  followed,  which,  however,  let  me  completely  into  the 
man's  character,  and  showed  him  in  a  variety  of  hghts, 
some  ludicrous,  and  others  as  melancholy.  There  was  a 
full  length  portrait  in  the  room,  of  a  little  girl,  dizzened  out 
in  her  best.  This,  he  told  me,  was  his  daughter,  whom  he 
had  disinherited  for  her  disobedience.  I  tried  to  suggest  a 
few  reflections,  capable  of  doing  her  service  ;  but  disobedi- 
ence, I  found,  was  an  ofiense  doubly  irritating  to  his  nature, 
on  account  of  his  sovereign  habits  as  a  jailer  ;  and  seeing  his 
irritability  likely  to  inflame  the  plethora  of  his  countenance, 
I  desisted.  Though  not  allowed  to  speak  above  a  whisper, 
he  was  extremely  willing  to  talk  ;  but  at  an  early  hour  I 
pleaded  my  own  state  of  health,  and  retired  to  bed. 

On  taking  possession  of  my  garret,  I  was  treated  with  a 
piece  of  delicacy,  which  I  never  should  have  thought  of  find- 
ing in  a  prison.  When  I  first  entered  its  walls,  I  had  been 
received  by  the  under-jailer,  a  man  who  seemed  an  epitome 
of  all  that  was  forbidding  in  his  office.  He  was  short  and 
very  thick,  had  a  hook  nose,  a  great  severe  countenance,  and 
a  bunch  of  keys  hanging  on  his  arm.  A  friend  stopped  short 
at  sight  of  him,  and  said  in  a  melancholy  tone,  "  And  this 
is  the  jailer  I" 


DELICACY  OF  AN  UiNDER-JAILER'S  WIFE.  2S9 

Honest  old  Cave!  thine  outside  would  have  been  un- 
worthy of  thee,  if  upon  further  acquaintance  I  had  not 
found  it  a  very  hearty  outside — ay,  and  in  my  eyes,  a  very 
good-looking  one,  and  as  fit  to  contain  the  milk  of  human- 
kindness  that  was  in  th^e,  as  the  husk  of  a  cocoa.  To  show 
by  one  specimen  the  character  of  this  man,  I  could  never 
prevail  on  him  to  accept  any  acknowledgm-ent  of  his  kindness, 
greater  than  a  set  of  tea-things,  and  a  piece  or  two  of  old 
furniture  which  I  could  not  well  carry  away.  1  had,  indeed 
the  pleasure  of  leaving  him  in  possession  of  a  room  which  I 
had  papered ;  but  this  was  a  thing  unexpected,  and 
which  neither  of  us  had  supposed  could  be  done.  Had 
I  been  a  prince,  I  would  have  forced  on  him  a  pension  ; 
being  a  journalist,  I  made  him  accept  an  Examiner  week- 
ly, which  he  lived  for  some  years  to  relish  his  Sunday  pipe 
with. 

This  man,  in  the  interval  between  my  arrival  and  intro- 
duction to  the  head-jailer,  had  found  means  to  give  me  farther 
information  respecting  my  condition,  and  to  express  the  in- 
terest he  took  in  it.  I  thought  little  of  his  oilers  at  the  time. 
He  behaved  with  the  greatest  air  of  deference  to  his  princi- 
pal ;  moving  as  fast  as  his  body  would  allow  him,  to  execute 
his  least  intimation ;  and  holding  the  candle  to  him  while 
he  read,  with  an  obsequious  zeal.  But  he  had  spoken  to  his 
wife  about  me,  and  his  wife  I  found  to  be  as  great  a  curiosity 
as  himself  Both  were  more  like  the  romantic  jailers  drawn 
in  some  oY  our  modern  plays,  than  real  Horsemongcr-lane 
palpabilities.  The  wife,  in  her  person,  was  as  hght  and 
fragile  e.s  the  husband  was  sturdy.  She  had  the  nerves  of 
a  fine  l£,dy,  and  yet  went  through  the  most  unpleasant  duties 
with  thi!  patience  of  a  martyr.  Her  voice  and  look  seemed 
to  plead  for  a  softness  like  their  own,  as  if  a  loud  reply  would 
have  shuttered  her.  Ill  health  had  made  her  a  Methodist, 
but  this  did  not  hinder  her  from  sympathizing  with  an  in- 
valid w?io  was  none,  or  from  loving  a  husband  who  was  as 
little  of  a  saint  as  need  be.  Upon  the  whole,  such  an  cx- 
traordin.iry  couple,  so  apparently  unsuitable,  and  yet  so  fitted 
for  one  itnother  ;  so  apparently  vulgar  on  one  side,  and  yet 
so  naturiilly  delicate  on  both  ;  so  misplaced  in  llicir  situation, 
VOL.    I. — N 


290  LIKE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

and  yet  for  the  good  of  others  so  admirably  put  there,  I  have 
never  met  with  before  or  since. 

It  was  the  business  of  this  woman  to  lock  me  up  in  my 
garret ;  but  she  did  it  so  softly  the  first  night,  that  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  matter.  The  night  following,  I  thought  I 
heard  a  gentle  tampering  with  the  lock.  I  tried  it,  and  found 
it  fastened.  She  heard  me  as  she  was  going  down-stairs, 
and  said  the  next  day,  "  Ah,  sir,  I  thought  I  should  have 
turned  the  key  so  as  for  you  not  to  hear  it ;  but  I  found  you 
did."  The  whole  conduct  of  this  couple  toward  us,  from 
first  to  last,  was  of  a  piece  with  this  singular  delicacy. 

My  bed  was  shortly  put  up,  and  I  slept  in  my  new  room. 
It  was  on  an  upper  story,  and  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  quad- 
rangle, on  the  right  hand  as  you  enter  the  prison-gate.  The 
windows  (which  had  now  been  accommodated  with,  glass,  iu 
addition  to  their  "  excellent  shutters")  were  high  up,  and  bar- 
red ;  but  the  room  was  large  and  airy,  and  there  was  a  fire- 
place. It  was  intended  to  be  a  common  room  for  the  prison- 
ers on  that  story  ;  but  the  cells  were  then  empty.  The  cells 
were  ranged  on  cither  side  of  the  arcade,  of  which  the  story 
is  formed,  and  the  room  opened  at  the  end  of  it.  At  night- 
time the  door  was  locked  ;  then  another  on  the  top  of  the 
staircase,  then  another  on  the  middle  of  the  staircase,  then  a 
fourth  at  the  bottom,  a  fifth  that  shut  up  the  little  yard  be- 
longing to  that  quarter,  and  how  many  more,'  before  you  got 
out  of  the  gates,  I  forget  :  but  I  do  not  exaggerate  M'hen  I 
say  there  were  ten  or  eleven.  The  first  night  I  slept  there, 
I  listened  to  them,  one  after  the  other,  till  the  weaker  part 
of  my  heart  died  within  me.  Every  fresh  turning  of  the 
key  seemed  a  malignant  insult  to  my  love  of  liberty.  I  was 
alone,  and  away  from  my  family  ;  I,  who  to  this  day  have 
never  slept  from  home  above  a  dozeii  weeks  in  my  life. 
Furthermore,  the  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  I  was  ill. 
With  a  great  flow  of  natural  spirits,  I  was  subject  to  fits  of 
nervousness,  which  had  latterly  taken  a  more  continued 
shape.  I  felt  one  of  them  coming  on,  and  having  learned  to 
anticipate  and  break  the  force  of  it  by  exercise,  I  took  a  stout 
walk  by  pacing  backward  and  forward  for  the  space  of  three 
'•ours.      This  threw  me  into  a  state  in  which  rest,  for  rest's 


FIRST  EFFECTS  OF  IMPRISONMENT.  29 

sake,  became  pleasant.  I  got  hastily  into  bed,  and  slept 
without  a  dream  till  morning. 

By  the  way,  I  never  dreamt  of  prison  but  twice  all  the 
time  I  was  there,  and  my  dream  was  the  same  on  both  oc- 
casions. I  fancied  I  was  at  the  theatre,  and  that  the  whole 
house  looked  at  me  in  surprise,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  How 
could  he  get  out  of  prison?" 

I  saw  my  wife  for  a  few  minutes  after  I  entered  the  jail, 
but  she  was  not  allowed  on  that  day  to  stop  longer.  The 
next  day  she  was  with  me  for  some  hours.  To  say  that  she 
never  reproached  me  for  these  and  the  like  taxes  upon  our 
family  pro.spccts,  is  to  say  little.  A  world  of  comfort  for  mo 
was  in  her  face.  There  is  a  note  in  the  fifth  volume  of 
my  Spenser,  which  I  was  then  reading,  in  these  words  ; 
"  February  4th,  1813."      The  hne  to  which  it  refers  is  this : 

"Much  dearer  be  the  thhigs  whieh  come  through  hard  distresse." 

I  now  applied  to  the  magistrates  for  permission  to  have  mv 
wife  and  children  constantly  with  me,  which  was  granted- 
Not  so  my  request  to  move  into  the  jailer's  house.  Mr 
Holme  Sumner,  on  occasion  of  a  petition  from  a  subsequent 
prisoner,  told  the  House  of  Commons  that  my  room  had  a 
view  over  the  Surrey  hills,  and  that  I  was  very  well  content 
Avith  it.  I  could  not  feci  obliged  to  him  for  this  postlimini- 
ous  piece  of  enjoyment,  especially  when  I  remembered  that 
he  had  done  all  in  his  power  to  prevent  my  removal  out  of 
the  room,  precisely  (as  it  appeared  to  us),  because  it  looked 
upon  nothing  but  the  felons,  and  because  I  was  not,  content- 
ed. In  fact,  you  could  not  see  out  of  the  windows  at  all, 
without  getting  on  a  chair  ;  and  then,  ail  that  you  saw,  was 
the  miserable  men  whose  chains  had  been  clanking  from  day- 
light. The  perpetual  sound  of  these  chains  wore  upon  my 
spirits  in  a  manner  to  which  my  state  of  health  allowed  me 
reasonably  to  object.  The  yard,  also,  in  which  I  took  ex- 
ercise, was  very  small.  The  jailer  proposed  that  I  should 
be  allowed  to  occupy  apartments  in  his  house,  and  walk  oc- 
ca.<;ionally  in  the  prison  garden  ;  adding,  that  I  should  cer- 
tainly die  if  I  did  not ;  and  his  opinion  was  seconded  by  that 
of  the  medical  man.      Mine  host  was  sincere  in  this,  if  ir 


292  LIKE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

nothing  else.  Telling  us,  one  day,  how  warmly  he  had  put 
it  to  the  magistrates,  and  how  he  insisted  that  I  should  not 
survive,  he  turned  round  upon  me,  and  to  the  doctor's  as 
touishment,  added,  "  Nor,  mister,  will  you."  1  believe  it 
was  the  opinion  of  many  ;  but  Mr.  Holme  Sumner  argued 
otherwise ;  perhaps  from  his  own  sensations, .  which  were 
suliiciently  iron.  Perhaps  he  concluded,  also,  like  a  proper 
old  Tory,  that  if  I  did  not  think  fit  to  flatter  the  magistrates 
a  little,  and  play  the  courtier,  my  wants  could  not  be  very 
great.  At  all  events,  he  came  up  one  day  with  the  rest  of 
them,  and  after  bowing  to  my  wife,  and  piteously  pinching 
the  cheek  of  an  infant  in  her  arms,  went  down  and  did  all 
he  could  to  prevent  our  being  comfortably  situated. 

The  doctor  then  proposed  that  I  should  be  removed  into 
the  prison  infirmar)'^ ;  and  this  proposal  was  granted.  In- 
firmary had,  I  confess,  an  awkward  sound,  even  to  my  ears. 
T  fancied  a  room  shared  with  other  sick  persons,  not  the  best 
fitted  for  companions  ;  but  the  good-natured  doctor  (his  name 
was  Dixon)  undeceived  me.  The  infirmary  was  divided  into 
four  wards,  with  as  many  small  rooms  attached  to  them. 
The  two  upper  wards  were  occupied,  but  the  two  on  the  floor 
had  never  been  used  :  and  one  of  these,  not  very  providently 
(for  I  had  not  yet  learned  to  think  of  money)  I  turned  into  a 
noble  room.  I  papered  the  walls  Avith  a  trellis  of  roses  ;  I 
had  the  ceiling  colored  with  clouds  and  sky  ;  the  barred  wind- 
ows I  screened  with  Venetian  blinds  ;  and  when  my  book- 
cases were  set  up  with  their  busts,  and  flowers  and  a  piano- 
forte made  their  appearance,  perhaps  there  Avas  not  a  hand- 
somer room  on  that  side  the  water.  I  took  a  pleasure,  when 
a  stranger  knocked  at  the  door,  to  sec  him  come  in  and  stare 
about  him.  The  surprise  on  issuing  from  the  Borough,  and 
passing  through  the  avenues  of  a  jail,  was  dramatic.  Charles 
Lamb  declared  there  was  no  other  such  room,  except  in  a 
fairy  tale. 

But  I  possessed  another  surprise  ;  which  Avas  a  garden. 
There  Avas  a  little  yard  outside  the  room,  railed  ofl'  from 
another  belonging  to  the  neighboring  ward.  This  yard  I 
shut  in  with  green  palings,  adorned  it  Avith  a  trellis,  border- 
ed it  Avith  a  thick  bed  of  earth  from  a  nursery,  and  even  con- 


IMPRISONMENT  EMBELLISHED  293 

trived  to  have  a  grass-plot.  The  earth  I  filled  with  flowers 
and  young  trees.  There  was  an  apple-tree,  from  which  we 
managed  to  get  a  pudding  the  second  year.  As  to  my  flow- 
ers, they  were  allowed  to  be  perfect.  Thomas  Moore,  who 
came  to  see  me  with  Lord  Byron,  told  me  he  had  seen  no 
Buch  heart's-ease.  I  bought  the  Parnaso  Italiano  while  in 
prison,  and  used  often  to  think  of  a  passage  in  it,  while  look- 
ing at  this  miniature  piece  of  horticulture  : 

"  Mio  picciol  orto, 
A  me  sei  vigna,  e  campo,  e  selva,  e  prato." — Baldi. 

"  My  little  garden, 
To  me  thou'rt  vineyard,  field,  and  meadow,  and  wood." 

Here  I  wrote  and  read  in  fine  weather,  sometimes  under  an 
awing.  In  autumn,  my  trellises  were  hung  with  scarlet  run- 
ners, which  added  to  the  flowery  investment.  I  used  to 
shut  my  eyes  in  my  arm-chair,  and  aflect  to  think  myself 
hundreds  of  miles  off". 

But  my  triumph  was  in  issuing  forth  of  a  morning.  A 
wicket  out  of  the  garden  led  into  the  large  one  belonging  to 
the  prison.  The  latter  was  only  for  vegetables  ;  but  it  con- 
tained a  cherry-tree,  which  I  saw  twice  in  blossom.  I  par- 
celled out  the  ground  in  my  imagination  into  favorite  districts. 
I  made  a  point  of  dressing  myself  as  if  for  a  long  walk  ;  and 
then,  putting  on  my  gloves,  and  taking  my  book  under  my 
arm,  stepped  forth,  requesting  my  wife  not  to  wait  dinner 
if  I  was  too  late.  My  eldest  little  boy,  to  whom  Lamb 
addressed  some  charming  verses  on  the  occasion,  was  my 
constant  companion,  and  we  used  to  play  all  sorts  of  juvenile 
games  together.  It  was,  probably,  in  dreaming  of  one  of 
these  games  (but  the  words  had  a  more  touching  effect  on 
my  ear)  that  he  exclaimed  one  night  in  his  sleep,  "  No  :  I'm 
not  lost ;  I'm  found."  Neither  he  nor  I  were  very  strong 
at  that  time ;  but  I  have  lived  to  see  him  a  man  of  forty  ; 
and  wherever  he  is  found,  a  generous  hand  and  a  great  im- 
derstanding  will  be  found  together. 

I  entered  prison  the  3d  of  February  1813,  and  removed 
to  my  new  apartments  the  16th  of  March,  happy  to  get 
out  of  the  noise  of  the  chains.      When  I   sat  amidst  my 


29.1  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

books,  and  saw  the  imaginary  sky  overhead,  and  my  paper 
roses  about  me,  I  drank  in  the  quiet  at  my  ears,  as  ii"  they 
were  thirsty.      The  little  room  was  my  bedroom.      I  after- 
ward made  the  two  rooms  change  characters,  when  my  wife 
lay-in.       Permission  for  her  continuance  with  me  at  that 
period  was  easily  obtained  of  the  magistrates,  among  whom 
a  new-comer  mude  his  appearance.      This  was  another  good- 
natured  man,  Lord  Leshe,  afterward  Earl  of  Pvothes.*     He 
heard  me  with  kindness  ;   and  his  actions  did  not  belie  his 
countenance.      My  eldest  girl  (now,  alas  I  no  more)  was  born 
in  prison.      She  was  beautiful,  and  for  the  greatest  part  of 
an   existence  of  thirty   years,    she   was    happy.      She   was 
christened  Mary  after  my  mother,   and  Florimel  after  one 
of  Spenser's  heroines.      But  Mary  we  called  her.       Never 
shall  I  forget  my  sensations  when  she  came  into  the  world  ; 
for  I  was  obliged  to  play  the  physician  myself,  the  hour 
having  taken  us  by  surprise.      But  her  mother  found  many 
unexpected    comforts  ;    and    during    the   whole    time  of  her 
confinement,   which  happened  to  be  in  very  fine  weather, 
the  garden  door  was  set  open,   and  she  looked  upon  trees 
and  flowers.      A  thousand  recollections  rise  within  me  at 
every  fresh  period  of  my  imprisonment,  such  as  I  can  not 
trust  myself  with  dwelling  upon. 

These  rooms,  and  the  visits  of  my  friends,  were  the  bright 
side  of  my  captivity.  I  read  verses  without  end,  and  wrote 
almost  as  many.  I  had  also  the  pleasure  of  hearing  that 
my  brother  had  found  comfortable  rooms  in  Coldbath-fields, 
and  a  host  who  really  deserved  that  name  as  much  as  a 
jailer  could.  The  first  year  of  my  imprisonment  was  a  long 
pull  up-hill ;  but  never  was  metaphor  so  literally  verified,  as 
by  the  sensation  at  the  turning  of  the  second.  In  the  first 
year,  all  the  prospect  was  that  of  the  one  coming  :  in  the 
second,  the  days  began  to  be  scored  ofi^,  like  those  of  children 
at  school  preparing  for  a  holiday.  When  I  was  fairly  settled 
in  my  new  apartments,  the  jailer  could  hardly  give  sufficient 
vent  to  his  spleen  at  my  having  escaped  his  clutches,  his 
astonishment  was  so  great.      Besides,  though  I  treated  him 

*  George  William,  twelfth  earl  of  that  name.  He  died  a  few  years 
afterward. 


GOOD  IN  EVIL.  295 

handsomely,  he  had  a  little  lurking  fear  of  the  Examiiier 
upon  him ;  so  he  contented  himself  with  getting  as  much 
out  of  me  as  he  could,  and  boasting  of  the  grand  room  which 
he  would  fain  have  prevented  my  enjoying. 

My  friends  were  allowed  to  be  with  me  till  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  when  the  under-turnkey,  a  young  man  with  his  lantern, 
and  much  ambitious  gentility  of  deportment,  came  to  see  them 
out.  I  believe  we  scattered  an  urbanity,  about  the  prison, 
till  then  unknown.  Even  William  Hazlitt,  who  there  first 
did  me  the  honor  of  a  visit,  would  stand  interchanging 
amenities  at  the  threshold,  which  I  had  great  difficulty  in 
making  him  pass.  I  know  not  which  kept  Jiis  hat  off  with 
the  greater  pertinacity  of  deference,  I  to  the  diffident  cutter- 
up  of  Tory  dukes  and  kings,  or  he  to  the  amazing  prisoner 
and  invalid  who  issued  out  of  a  bower  of  roses.  There 
came  my  old  friends  and  school-fellows,  Pitman,  whose  wit 
and  animal  spirits  still  keep  him  alive ;  Mitchell,  who 
translated  Aristophanes  ;  and  Barnes,  who  always  reminded 
me  of  Fielding.  It  was  he  that  introduced  me  to  the  late 
Mr.  Thomas  Alsager,  the  kindest  of  neighbors,  a  man  of 
business,  who  contrived  to  be  a  scholar  and  a  musician.  He 
loved  his  leisure,  and  yet  would  start  up  at  a  moment's  notice 
to  do  the  least  of  a  prisoner's  biddings. 

My  now  old  friend,  Cowden  Clarke,  with  his  ever  young 
and  wise  heart,  was  good  enough  to  be  his  own  introducer, 
paving  his  way,  like  a  proper  invester  of  prisons,  with  baskets 
of  fruit. 

The  Lambs  came  to  comfort  me  in  all  weathers,  hail  or 
sunshine,  in  daylight  and  in  darkness,  even  in  the  dreadful 
frost  and  snow  of  the  beginning  of  1814. 

My  physician,  curiously  enough,  was  Dr.  Knighton 
(afterward  Sir  William),  who  had  lately  become  physician 
to  the  prince.  lie,  therefore,  could  not,  in  decency,  visit 
me  under  the  circumstancee,  though  he  did  again  afterward 
never  failing  in  the  delicacies  due  either  to  his  great  friend 
or  to  his  small.  Meantime,  another  of  his  friends,  the  late 
estimable  Dr.  Gooch,  came  to  me  as  his  substitute,  and  he 
came  often. 

Great  disappointment  and  exceeding  viciousness  may  talk 


2!)G  LIFE  OF  ^A•.     U  HUNT. 

as  they  please  of  the  badness  of  human  nature.  For  my 
part,  I  am  now  in  my  sixty-fifth  year,  and  I  have  seen  a 
good  deal  of  the  world,  the  dark  side  as  well  as  the  light, 
and  I  say  that  human  nature  is  a  very  good  and  kindly 
thing,  and  capable  of  all  .sorts  of  virtues.  Art  thou  not  a 
refutation  of  all  that  can  be  said  against  it,  excellent  Sir 
John  Swinburne  ?  another  friend  whom  I  made  in  prison, 
and  who  subsequently  cheered  some  of  my  greatest  passes  of 
adversity. 

To  evils  I  have  owed  some  of  my  greatest  blessings.  It 
was  imprisonment  that  brought  me  acquainted  with  my 
friend  of  friends,  Shelley.  I  had  seen  little  of  him  before  ; 
but  he  wrote  to  me,  making  me  a  princely  oiler,  which  at 
that  time  I  stood  in  no  need  of. 

Some  other  persons,  not  at  all  known  to  us,  offered  to 
raise  money  enough  to  pay  the  fine  of  <£l  000.  We  declined 
it,  with  proper  thanks  ;  and  it  became  us  to  do  so.  But, 
as  far  as  my  own  feelings  were  concerned,  I  have  no  merit; 
for  I  was  destitute,  at  that  time,  of  even  a  proper  instinct 
with  regard  to  money.  It  was  not  long  afterward  that  I 
was  forced  to  call  upon  friendship  for  its  assistance  ;  and 
nobly  (as  I  shall  show  by-and-by)  was  it  aflbrded  me  ! 

To  some  other  friends,  near  and  dcaj,  I  may  not  even  re- 
turn thanks  in  this  place  for  a  thousand  nameless  attentions, 
which  they  make  it  a  business  of  their  existence  to  bestow 
on  those  they  love.  I  might  as  soon  thank  my  own  heart. 
But  one  or  two  others,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  years,  and 
who  by  some  possibility  (if,  indeed,  they  ever  think  it  worth 
their  while  to  fancy  any  thing  on  the  subject)  might  suppose 
themselves  forgotten,  I  may  be  sufiered  to  remind  of  the 
pleasure  they  gave  me.  M.  S.,  who  afterward  saw  us  so 
often  near  London,  has  long,  I  hope,  been  enjoying  the  tran- 
quillity he  so  richly  deserved ;  and  so,  I  trust  is  C.  S., 
whose  face,  or  rather  something  like  it  (for  it  was  not  easy 
to  match  her  own),  I  continually  met  with  afterward  in  the 
land  of  her  ancestors.  Her  vail,  and  her  baskets  of  flowers, 
used  to  come  through  the  portal  like  light. 

I  must  not  omit  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  the  venerable 
Bentham,  who  was  justly  said  to  unite  the  wisdom  of  a  sage 


JEREMY  BENTHAM  297 

with  the  simphcity  of  a  child.  He  loimd  me  playing'  at 
battledore,  in  which  he  took  a  part,  &nd  with  his  usual  eye 
toward  improvement,  suggested  an  amendment  in  the  con- 
stitution of  shuttlecocks.  I  remember  the  surprise  of  the 
governor  at  his  local  knowledge  avid  his  vivacity.  •*  Why, 
mister,"  said  he,  "  his  eye  is  every  where  at  once." 

All  these  comforts  were  embittered  by  unceasing  ill- 
health,  and  by  certain  melancholy  reveries,  which  the  nature 
of  the  place  did  not  help  to  diminish.  During  the  first  six 
weeks,  the  sound  of  the  felons'  chains,  mixed  with  what 
I  took  for  horrid  execrations  or  despairing  laughter,  was 
never  out  of  my  ears.  When  I  went  into  the  infirmary, 
which  stood  between  the  jail  and  the  prison  walls,  gallows 
were  occasionally  put  in  order  by  the  side  of  my  windows, 
and  afterward  set  up  over  the  prison  gates,  where  they  re- 
mained visible.  The  keeper  one  day,  with  an  air  of  myste- 
ry, took  me  into  the  upper  ward,  for  the  purpose,  he  said, 
of  gratifying  me  with  a  view  of  the  country  from  the  roof. 
Something  prevented  his  showing  me  this  ;  but  the  specta- 
cle he  did  show  me  I  shall  never  fuiget.  It  was  a  stout 
country  girl,  sitting  in  an  absorbed  manner,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  fire.  She  was  handsome,  and  had  a  little  hectic 
spot  in  either  cheek,  the  efi'ect  of  some  gnawing  emotion.  He 
told  me,  in  a  whisper,  that  she  was  there  for  the  murder  of 
her  bastard  child.  I  could  have  knocked  the  fellow  down 
for  his  unfeelingness  in  making  a  show  of  her  ;  but,  after 
all,  she  did  not  see  us.  She  heeded  us  not.  There  was 
no  object  before  her  but  what  produced  the  spot  in  her  cheek. 
The  gallows,  on  which  she  was  executed,  must  have  been 
brought  out  within  her  hearing  :  but  perhaps  she  heard  that 
as  little. 

To  relieve  the  reader's  feelings,  I  will  here  give  him  an- 
other instance  of  the  delicacy  of  my  friend  the  under-jailer. 
He  always  used  to  carry  up  her  food  to  this  poor  girl  him- 
self; because,  as  he  said,  he  did  not  think  it  a  fit  task  for 
younger  men. 

This  was  a  melancholy  case.  In  general,  the  crimes 
were  not  of  such  a  staggering  description,  nor  did  the  crimi- 
nals appear  to  take  their  situations  to  heart.      I  found  by 


293  LIFE  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 

degrees,  that  fortune  showed  fairer  play  than  I  had  supposed 
to  all  classes  of  men,  ani  that  those  who  seemed  to  have 
most  reason  to  be  miserable,  were  not  always  so.  Their 
criminality  was  generally  proportioned  to  their  want  of 
thoufTht.  My  friend  Cave,  who  had  become  a  philosopher 
by  the  force  of  his  situation,  said  to  me  one  day,  when  a 
new  batch  of  criminals  came  in,  "  Poor  ignorant  wretches, 
sir  I"  At  evening,  when  they  went  to  bed,  I  used  to  stand 
in  the  prison  garden,  listening  to  the  cheerful  songs  with 
which  the  felons  entertained  one  another.  The  beaters  of 
hemp  were  a  still  merrier  race.  Doubtless  the  good  hours 
and  simple  fare  of  the  prison  contributed  to  make  the  blood 
of  its  iimiates  run  belter,  particularly  those  who  were  forced 
to  take  exercise.  At  last,  I  used  to  pity  the  debtors  more 
than  the  criminals;  yet  even  the  debtors  had  their  gay 
parties  and  jolly  songs.  Many  a  time  (for  they  were  my 
neighbors)  have  I  heard  them  roar  out  the  old  ballad  in 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  ; 

"  He  that  drinks,  and  goes  to  bed  sober, 
Falls  as  the  leaves  do,  and  dies  in  October." 
To  say  the  truth,  there  was  an  obstreperousness  in  their 
mirth,  that  looked  more  melancholy  than  the  thoughtlessness 
of  the  lighter-feeding  felons. 

On  the  3d  of  February  1815,  I  was  free.  When  my 
family,  the  preceding  summer,  had  been  obliged  to  go  down 
to  Brighton  for  their  health,  I  felt  ready  to  dash  my  head 
against  the  wall,  at  not  being  able  to  follow  them.  I  would 
sometimes  sit  in  my  chair,  with  this  thought  upon  me,  till 
the  agony  of  my  impatience  burst  out  at  every  pore.  I  would 
not  speak  of  it,  if  it  did  not  enable  me  to  show  how  this  kind 
of  suffering  may  be  borne,  and  in  what  sort  of  way  it  term- 
inates. I  learned  to  prevent  it  by  violent  exercise.  All  fits 
of  nervousness  ought  to  be  anticipated  as  much  as  possible 
with  exercise.  Indeed,  a  proper  healthy  mode  of  life  would 
save  most  people  from  these  effeminate  ills,  and  most  likely 
cure  even  their  inheritors. 

It  was  now  thought  that  I  should  dart  out  of  my  cage  like 
a,  bird,  and  feel  no  end  in  the  delight  of  ranging.  But  partly 
from  ill-health,  and  partly  from  habit,  the  day  of  my  libera 


MORBID  EFFECTS  OF  IMPRISONMENT.  299 

tion  brought  a  good  deal  of  pain  with  it.  An  illness  of  a 
long  standing,  which  required  very  different  treatment,  had 
by  this  time  been  burnt  in  upon  me  by  the  iron  that  enters 
into  the  sou)  of  the  captive,  wrap  it  in  flowers  as  he  may  ; 
and  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  that  after  stopping  a  little  at  the 
house  of  my  friend  Alsager,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  continue 
looking  at  the  shoals  of  people  passing  to  and  fro,  as  the  coach 
drove  up  the  Strand.  The  whole  business  of  life  seemed  a 
hideous  impertinence.  The  first  pleasant  sensation  I  ex- 
perienced was  when  the  coach  turned  into  the  New  E-oad, 
and  I  beheld  the  old  hills  of  my  affection  standing  where 
they  used  to  do,  and  breathing  mc  a  welcome. 

It  was  very  slowly  that  I  recovered  any  thing  like  a  sen- 
sation of  health.  The  bitterest  evil  I  suffered  was  in  conse- 
quence of  having  been  confined  so  long  in  one  spot.  The 
habit  stuck  to  me  on  my  return  home,  in  a  very  extraordi- 
nary manner,  and  made,  I  fear,  some  of  my  friends  think  me 
ungrateful.  They  did  me  an  injustice  ;  but  it  was  their 
fault ;  nor  could  I  wish  them  the  bitter  experience  which 
alone  makes  us  acquainted  with  the  existence  of  strange 
things.  This  weakness  I  outlived  ;  but  I  have  never  thor- 
oughly recovered  the  shock  given  my  constitution.  My  natu- 
ral spirits,  however,  have  always  struggled  hard  to  see  me 
reasonably  treated.  Many  things  give  me  exquisite  pleasure, 
which  seem  to  affect  other  men  in  a  very  minor  degree  ;  and 
I  enjoyed,  after  all,  such  happy  moments  with  my  friends, 
even  in  prison,  that  in  the  midst  of  the  beautiful  climate 
which  I  afterward  visited,  I  was  sometimes  in  doubt  wheth- 
er I  would  not  rather  have  been  in  jail  than  in  Italy. 


END     OF      \'  O  I.  U  IM  1-:      THE     FIRS  T. 


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